


Summer’s Days, Star-Crossed Lovers, & Other Clichés

by great_turkey_calamity



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Alex and Henry are emotional hot messes, Alex gets in a fistfight with Philip because sometimes shit happens, Broken Bones, Crying, Discussion of feelings, Emetophobia, Filipino Liam, First Dates, Fluff, Healthy Communication, High School AU, High School Drama, Insecurities, M/M, Messy emotions, Misunderstandings, Not Beta Read, Oblivious Alex, Oscar and Raf are amazing parents, Oscar is a shithead and teases Alex, Sexuality Crisis, Spacing is off in chapter eight, TW: Homophobia, TW: fight, Theatre kid AU, Trans Alex Claremont-Diaz, amy is a cool bitch, and more incoherent, eating at shitty diners, education sponsorship, ghosting, high school plays, mentions of drug abuse, mentions of overdose, mentions of rehab, mentions of trauma, more tags to come, philip has given Henry the undying need to be perfect, philip is a a raging dick, rebuilding family bonds, same sex parents, step parents and divorced parents, supportive parents, these chapters are getting longer, verbal arguments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:20:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28963818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/great_turkey_calamity/pseuds/great_turkey_calamity
Summary: After getting in trouble in Texas, Alex is transported to California to live with his father. He’s settling in just fine; until he’s cast opposite of assumed-bigot Henry Fox in his theatre class’s gender-blind production of Romeo and Juliet. For the sake of staying on track to graduate in May, the two seniors are forced to maintain their roles, despite their disdain for one another.
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Comments: 100
Kudos: 122





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Will I see this one the whole way through? Who knows lol. In the mean time— high school AU

“ _God_ , I fucking hate French.” Alex groans, ripping a sheet of paper out of his notebook and balling it up, aiming for the tiny trash can across the room before throwing. He misses, and groans again.   
  


Liam giggles on the opposite end of the phone. “Why’d you take it then, you goober?”

“ _Because_ ,” Alex starts, removing his glasses in frustration. “California curriculum mandates that I take at least one year of a foreign language, and I wasn’t about to sit a Spanish classroom where some blonde woman from Laguna Beach would have the nerve to tell me I’m speaking my own damn language wrong.”

“You get wordy when you’re mad,” Liam snickers. “It’s kinda funny.”

Alex lets out an exasperated sigh, chuckling as he scrubs over his face. “God, I hate it here. I miss the barbecue and in-your-face racism. Everyone around here’s tryin’ to make quinoa a main dietary staple, and they don’t even have the balls to be racist, unless it’s behind my back. Then they seem to have everything to say.” He grumbles, and he hears a noise of sympathy from his phone, sounding cut-off and staticky. 

“I’m sorry,” Liam tells him, and it sounds earnest. Too vulnerable— like he's not just apologizing for the sake of sympathy. 

“Don’t be,” Alex replies. He can already feel himself shaking. “It’s my own fault I got sent here in the first place. It was here, jail, or a wilderness retreat in Alaska. Thankfully, my parents actually loved me enough to not put me through shit like that.”

“I know, but if I’d just, I don’t know, if I’d kept it out of the way—“

“Liam, honey, it’s not your fault,” Alex tells him, chest heavy. “I already had problems. If it didn’t happen then, it was gonna happen at some point.”

“And I _knew_ that,” Liam replies, sounding greatly upset. “I knew that, and I still kept them in plain sight. I should’ve put them away, I should’ve—“

“I know what it’s like, noticing all your mistakes in hindsight,” He says, cutting Liam off, uncomfortable with the knowledge that Liam’s on the way to panicking or crying. Out of all the people he’d let down before he got here, of all the people he scared and hurt, there’s something about Liam that always redoubles his guilt and shame. “But there’s nothing we can do about it now. I knew what I was doing. I made that mistake. And when Bug found me—“ He has to pause here, surprised by how choked up he’s gotten. “I had to deal with those consequences. It’s nobody’s fault but my own.”

“Can we talk about something else, please?” Liam croaks. Alex’s stomach twists when he hears him start sniffling. 

“Uhm, yeah,” Alex replies quickly, clearing his throat. “You pick the topic.”

“Uhm,” Liam starts, coughing and sniffling. “One year on T’s comin’ up,” He points out, and it only registers in Alex’s brain as he says it. “Y’all doin’ anything to celebrate?”

“Not really. Raf said somethin’ about pullin’ me out of school for the day, two of us havin’ a guy's day. I politely declined.”

“What’s your problem with Raf?” Liam asks, chuckling. “I remember you liked him, before you realized he was datin’ your dad.”

“Oh, I dunno,” He sighs in response, picking at his nails. “Things are just different, now.”

“Not you being homophobic,” Liam snickers.

Alex immediately becomes defensive. “Oh my God, no. _Stop_. I have two dads. I’ve literally made out with you. I’m not homophobic. Don’t even say that.”

“Why are you so afraid of being homophobic?” Liam laughs. It sounds good, hearing him laugh after putting him through so much pain— a hospital stay and two months without contact at all. He’s just glad that he’s been granted a second chance in the first place.

“Because it’s _bad!_ ” He finds himself exclaiming, flopping back onto his mattress, exhaling as his back pops and cracks. “I just— I don’t know. Wouldn’t you be afraid of looking homophobic around your gay friends if you were straight?”

Liam laughs.  
  


“What?” Alex immediately questions. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Liam responds, just a bit too quickly. “Spencer sent me a meme.”

“How _is_ Spencer?” Alex asks. “Y’all still goin’ strong?”

“Oh yeah,” Liam replies, smiling. “Been talkin’ ‘bout meetin’ the parents.”

“Damn, y’all are _serious!_ ” Alex replies, chuckling. “I’m proud of you, dude. You've come a long way in the past year.”

“I mean, so have you,” Liam insists. “It might not seem like it, given the setback, but you’ve really just, I don’t know. Grown into yourself, I guess.”

They go silent, until Alex speaks up, an idea buzzing at the forefront of his mind. “I’d like to make a request, if you’d let me.”

“Of course,” Liam responds. “Anything that you want. Within reason, of course.”

Alex chuckles again. “I uhm, I’ve been thinking about it, and I wanna go stealth at my new school.”  
  


“Really?” Liam says, sounding amazed. “That’s awesome, dude. I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks, but with that, I’ve gotta sorta— I dunno— purge myself pre-T from the world, you know?”

“I getcha,” Liam replies. “How can I help?”

“Just, like, talk to anyone you know who has pictures of me from over a year ago, and tell them that I want them deleted, I guess?” He explains. “You can remove yours from Insta and shit, but you can keep ‘em in your camera roll. I don’t really care.”

“Want me to call your mom and June, too?” 

“I don’t care, it’s not like I follow either one of them on anything.”

Liam sighs. “Still mad at them?”

“I don’t even know anymore, honestly. I’m mad, but I understand, and I realize that those feelings go both ways. It was literally overnight, and I get why it was, but like, I still sleep with my lamp on so I can be ready to be pulled out bed by June and driven to the airport by Mom. They kinda fucked with my head when they did that, not gonna lie.”

“It was the only way to get you better, though.” Liam points out. 

“I know,” Alex sighs. “I know.”

“ _Mijo_ ,” Oscar shouts from the bottom of the stairs. “Come down to grab your plate!”

“I gotta go,” Alexander grunts, pulling himself up. “Dinner.”

“I forgot you’re in a different time zone, now.” Liam admits, chuckling. “I honestly forget you left Texas half the time.”

Alex hasn’t cried in months, but damn, he certainly wants to now. 

“I miss you, bud.” He croaks.

“I miss you, too.” Liam breathes. 

“Tell Daniel and Lyka Mae that I miss them, too.” 

Liam snorts. “Should I tell Mom that you miss eating all her palitaws, too?”

Alex groans. “God, _yes_. Tell her I miss her turon, too. I could eat ten of those in one sitting.”

Liam laughs. “I will. You should probably go, before you get yelled at.”

“You’re right,” Alex says, but he hesitates for just a moment. “Goodbye, Liam.”

Several seconds pass. “Bye, Alex.”

Saving himself the pain of another silent pause, he hangs up, throwing his phone onto the bed before heading downstairs. 

“Took you long enough!” Oscar declares, chortling. 

“I was talking to Liam.” He explains, and the way the grin drops from his father’s face so quickly makes him viscerally uncomfortable.   
  


“Anything goin’ on at home?” Oscar asks, and Alex wants to reprimand him for being nosy, but he knows he’s just trying to make conversation. 

“Not really,” He replies, grabbing a glass from the cabinet and filling it with water and ice. “He’s gonna introduce his boyfriend to his parents, but that’s about it.”

“Good for him,” Raf replies, and Alex is resisting the urge to creep back upstairs with his plate of chicken stir-fry and rice.

“Yeah,” He finds himself replying instead, stabbing at a flower of broccoli with his fork.

“Any breakthroughs with Doctor Srivastava?” Oscar asks, and this a blatant invasion of his privacy that Alex simply will not stand for. 

“I don’t feel comfortable talking about that.” He replies, shoving a forkful of vegetables into his mouth.   
  


“Okay, no need to get testy,” Oscar replies, very quickly becoming defensive. “Just asking.”

Alex would love to continue down this route, of telling his dad off for getting involved in his personal affairs, but he knows that the only thing that would come of it would be a long-winded argument, so instead, he turns his attention to his plate and focuses on eating. 

“So,” Raf starts, taking a sip from his glass of wine. “How was class today?”

Alexander doesn’t know why, but this is the straw that breaks the camel’s back. “It was fine,” He says, standing up. “I’m gonna go to bed early, Dad. I have a migraine.” 

“That’s fine, _mijo_.” Oscar sighs in response, seeing right through him.   
  


“You need anything?” Raf asks, and it’s so annoyingly compassionate that Alex wants to shake him. “Some water, some ibuprofen?”

“No, thank you.” He replies, hastily making his way towards the staircase, shutting his bedroom door and locking it behind himself. 

The process of getting ready for bed is a long and arduous one, but by the end of it, he feels like he can finally sleep. His alarm clock only reads 7:45, but he’s honestly so tired of being awake that he doesn’t really mind. For a moment, his hand hovers over the switch of his lamp, trying to decide whether or not he wants to keep it on or off. 

_Tonight wasn’t the best night_ , he reminds himself. _You didn’t even try to get along with anyone._

The light stays on, and he curls up onto his side, facing the door on the off chance that he’ll wake up from this bad dream to June walking into his room in Austin, shaking him awake, telling him that he slept in past his alarm and that he needs to get up for school.

He wakes up, and he’s still in Sacramento. Today already feels like it’s got the potential to be absolutely awful, and he tries his damnedest to push that thought out of his head as he stands under the scalding hot shower head. He dries off, shaves the peach fuzz from his face, and dresses; he also weighs whether he should bind, or just wear a sports bra and one of Liam’s old hoodie. Ultimately, he binds and wears the hoodie. He can’t afford to be lazy if he wants to go stealth. 

Oscar went into work early this morning, which means that Raf’s in charge of whatever they end up doing until it’s time to leave. On his way downstairs, Alex sees him in the kitchen, humming and cooking something on the stovetop. Raf catches him hiding at the bottom of the stairs, and smiles. 

“‘Morning.” He greets. 

Alex clears his throat. “Hi.” He mumbles, inching closer. “Smells good.”

“Cinnamon French toast,” Raf tells him. “Come sit down, I’ll make you some.”

“You don’t have to.” Alexander insists, taking a hesitant seat at the table. His interactions with Raf aren't bad— in fact, he almost always leaves them feeling happier than what he was before— it’s just weird, seeing how happy he is with his dad. Leaves him feeling awkward and out of place. 

“I know you’re hungry, kiddo. It’s no big deal.” Raf says, ruffling his hair. “You’re gettin’ shaggy. When’s the last time you got a haircut?”

“Right before rehab,” Alex replies, and where that gets most people to shut up, it doesn’t phase Raf at all. He doesn’t know if he should be annoyed or intrigued. 

“I could give it a trim, if you want.” Raf offers, wandering back over to the stovetop after washing his hands.

“Maybe after school,” Alex responds, nodding. 

“Speaking of school, are you sure you don’t wanna stay home next Wednesday?” Raf asks, double-checking. “Most kids look for an excuse to get out of school for a day, but when your dad and I tell you that you can, you say no.”

“Well, I already missed two months of in-person school, because I was sitting in a group home in Arizona and talking about my feelings with a bunch of washed-up twenty-five year olds,” He reminds him. “So, I don’t really think I can afford to miss anymore school, Rafa.”

Raf goes quiet, and for a moment, Alex is worried that he’s gone too far, that he’s taken a conversation and ruined it. This doesn’t seem to be case, though, as Rafael brings him his plate and takes a seat at the table with him. 

“Your dad ever tell you about my stint in rehab?” He asks, and Alex is taken so off guard that he chokes on a slice of banana. Raf curses, beating Alexander on the back until his coughing subsides. “I’m guessing that’s a no, then?”

“Nope,” Alex croaks, taking a sip of water, coughing again. 

“I’m not gonna tell you what I was on, because it was some pretty rough shit,” Rafael tells him, poking at his breakfast. “But I was one of those twenty-somethings you were talking about. I’d just been thrown out because I was gay, and I didn’t know what to do, or where to turn to. Rehab was hell, but I know that I’d probably be in a ditch somewhere right now if I’d never gone.”

“I’d probably be back in the hospital,” Alex admits. “But that doesn’t really matter. Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I want you to realize that what we did wasn’t to hurt you, or traumatize you.” Raf tells him, and it’s so soft and gentle that Alex feels his heart squeeze. “Believe me, I know how scary that had to be for you. I really do.”

“I don’t remember—“

“Kid, you sleep with your light on. You don’t have to lie to me.” Rafael says, his voice rasping a bit. “I know you’re still getting over it, and I need you to know that we did that to, well, to help you.” He continues. “You weren’t about to go willingly. That’s why June woke you up in the middle of the night.”

Alex sighs. He doesn’t want to be talking about this, especially not before school, but it’s apparent that Raf’s been thinking about it for quite some time. “I know.” He replies. “Y’all only did that because you love me.” He says, having heard those words at least a million times since leaving rehab, his tone tired.

“We really do, you know.” Raf tells him. “I know your dad went too far last night, and I told him off for it when you left, too.”

Alex snorts. “Did you really?”

“I did,” Raf chuckles. “He’s such a nosy old man sometimes. I know he means well, but I know you don’t want to talk about what goes down at those sessions. That’s your personal business.”

“Thank you,” Alex tells him. “Honestly, Raf. I know I give you static, but you’re a good guy.”

Rafael laughs. “Thanks. Hurry up and eat, don’t want you to be late for class.”

They eat, Raf grabs his coat, and they pile into the car. They stop and grab coffee and Alex tries not to hide in his seat when Raf parks in the lot, blasting _No Scrubs_ by TLC. He takes pity on Alex, and turns down the radio when he opens the door. 

“I’ll be here to pick you up at three, okay?” Raf reminds him.

“Okay,” He replies, nodding. 

“Be safe, and be good.” He warns, and Alex laughs.

“The same goes for you,” He replies, hesitating before wrapping a lose arm around Rafael, giving him a gentle squeeze. He’d made it clear when he moved in that physical affection is on his terms; he thinks Raf’s earned it. “See you at three.” He told him, pulling away.

Rafael smiles. “See you at three.” He shuts the door just as the bell rings, and mouths a silent ‘ _hurry up!’_

Alex gives him a quick wave goodbye, before jogging inside, trying to get to his economics class as fast as he can. 

He can honestly say that he hates his theatre class. The fact that he has to have eighty-five elective credits to graduate in the state of California makes his blood boil— no, scratch that— the entirety of the state of California’s curriculum has his blood boiling. He hates that this class bleeds into his thirty minute lunch period. He hates the fact that the course is basically a glorified version of a public speaking class. He really hates Henry, that homophobic dick that sits in the front row seating of the black box on his phone, stands up to give some of the most insane monologues Alex has ever seen, and sits right back down and gets on his phone again. He’s snobby, prejudiced, a perfectionist, and Alex wants nothing more than to slap him silly. It’s guys like Henry that make him want to go stealth; if he’s outwardly bigoted towards gay people, why would he act differently towards trans people? He wouldn’t. 

He finds Nora sitting by the door, and immediately takes the seat next to her. He wasn’t expecting to make very many friends, but he’s glad that he’s made one in her. She's funny, smart, and one of the best people he’s ever met; within three days of knowing her, she knew his whole life story, and vice versa. 

“Alejandro,” She greets, looking fresh-faced and serene. “Happy Friday— only two more classes to go, and we’re outta here.”

“God, they just can’t come fast enough, can they?” He laughs, pulling off his backpack and sitting down. His back aches from the weight of his backpack, but he can’t bring himself to fuss about it today. “We’re getting the cast list for Romeo and Jules today, right?” He asks; Pez, another student in their class— one of Henry’s friends— rewrote Romeo and Juliet to be more androgynous in casting. He can only imagine the rant that Henry yelled in his direction when he found out; bless him.

“Right,“ she replies. “I swear, if I’m not cast as the nurse, I’m gonna freak out.”

“If I’m cast as _anything_ , I’m gonna freak out,” Alex retorts. “Amy knows I only tried out because she made me, if she casted me, I’m gonna lose it.”

“She probably won’t, Alex.” Nora assures him, patting his hand. “Amy’s understanding. She’ll probably put you in set design or tech.”

“Well, I sure as hell hope so.” He replies, putting his head on her shoulder.

Amy— Mrs. Chen— walks in as soon as late bell rings, her clothing a flurry of bright oranges and pinks, her hair in a tightly-wound bun, rings adorning her fingers. She adores a dramatic entrance, or that’s what Alex has come to learn, at least. 

“Hello, my darling thespians,” She calls out, voice booming throughout the theater. “I have made my decisions for casting after last week’s auditions, and the cast list is posted outside. Feel free to take a look. We won’t be doing anything today, perhaps a read-through of the script.”

Everyone leaves their seat to go check the cast list, except for Alex, who remains stationary in his seat.

“Aren’t you coming?” Nora asks, smiling.

“No,” He responds, sinking down into his chair and shutting his eyes. “Why would I come if she didn’t cast me?”

“Good point— be back in a minute.”

“Alright.”

“Mister Claremont-Diaz?” Amy asks after a few moments, and Alex peels his eyes open.

“Yes, ma’am?” He replies, not liking the suspicious little smirk on her face.

“Why aren’t you checking the cast list?”

“Because I trust that you haven't cast me.”

Amy scrunches her brows together, stepping closer to him. “Why would I not cast my best male actor?”

He chortles at the audacity of this statement. “I’m not your best male actor. Henry is.”

“You’re both tied,” Amy allows, sitting down in Nora’s seat. “Why would I not cast you?”

“Because we’re both trans, and you can relate to the humiliation that comes with my gender dysphoria, and you would never ever make me uncomfortable?” Alex guesses, and Amy presses her lips into a thin line. 

“You see, I was actually thinking that you could use a boost in that ever-so-large ego; being a male character in a well-known play could definitely help in affirming your identity.” She argues, and Alex groans.

“Who am I?”

Amy hesitates.

“ _Amy_ ,” Alexander whines. “Who did you cast me as?”

“Romeo.” Amy admits, and it makes Alex want to scream.

“I—“ He starts, and Henry bursts through the doors at that exact moment. 

“I am _not_ ,” He starts, face brilliant and red. “Playing _his_ love interest.” He looks down upon Alex, glaring at him like he’s nothing. Alexander feels his blood run cold. 

Nora trails in behind Henry, looking absolutely giddy. “I got the nurse!” She says, absolutely beaming.

Amy looks pissed. “Mister Claremont-Diaz, Mister Fox, you will both meet me in my office after class,” She says, rising up from her seat and walking outside.

  
  
Henry stomps down the stairs to his seat, and Alex puts his head in his hands. “Congrats, Nora.” He tells her, voice muffled.

“Thanks, man.” She replies, sympathetic, rubbing his shoulder. 

“I know the two of you have problems with one another,” Amy says, pausing to shut the door. “But my decision has been made. Alex is to play Romeo, and Henry is to play Jules.”

“Amy, I am _begging_ you,” Alex pleads. “Please, re-cast me. I’m literally only taking this class to graduate.”

“Yeah, Mrs. Chen,” Henry replies, his stupid posh accent infecting the air. “Re-cast him. He’s only been here for two weeks, and he clearly doesn’t want to do it. Why would you subject the rest of us to _him_ when you can find a better fit?”  
  


“Because _he_ is what I deemed to be the best fit, Mister Fox!” She snaps, and they both jump. “Think of this play as your final grade, Mister Claremont-Diaz. If you drop this role, you are going to fail this class. The same goes for you, Mister Fox.”  
  


Henry scoffs. “You can’t _force_ us to act together.”

“I can, will, and am doing so right now. You’ll both play the parts I’ve assigned you, or neither one of you will walk this May, am I understood?”

“You said it yourself,” Alex reminds her. “We don’t get along.”  
  


“Well, I suggest you both find a way to do so,” She says, sitting at her desk. “You’re dismissed.”

Henry opens his mouth to argue, but her glare has made it clear that she’s done having this conversation. 

Alex leaves her office, head absolutely spinning; he’s gotta find a way to get out of this.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alex realizes he’s been a bit of a dick

“I think you should do it, son.” Oscar says, prodding at the beef roast in the slow cooker and shredding it with two forks.

“Of course you do,” Alex grumbles, grunting when Raf tilts his chin back up. 

“I’m gonna mess up your hairline if you keep looking down like that.” Rafael explains, turning the electric razor back on. 

“Sorry,” He replies, turning his attention back to Oscar. “Why should I do it? Give me at _least_ one good reason why I should.”

“First of all, your mom and CJ would kill me if you didn’t graduate on time,” He chuckles, putting the lid back on the slow cooker and shuffling across the kitchen to rinse his hands. “And I’d like to live long enough to see some grandkids.”  
  


“You won’t be getting any from me for a _very_ long time.” Alex reminds him, trying not to giggle at his father’s ridiculous bark of a laugh. 

“I said that when I was your age, and before I knew it, I had you on one hip and CJ on the other,” He reminisces. “That’s besides the point, though. You need the grade, and you need to learn to get along with people that you don’t like. How are you supposed to be a lawyer if you can’t treat those against you with civility?”

Alex sighs. He’s had his mind changed for a while, but hadn’t really gotten around to telling his dad yet. “I don’t really know if I wanna be a lawyer anymore.”

“Oh?” Raf asks, intercepting the question before Oscar can, well aware of the forty million questions he must be just dying to ask, of the long diatribe he'd go on just to coax Alex into a career he wants nothing to do with. “What do you think you might want to be, then?”

“I want to do something involving history, I think,” He admits, apologizing softly when Raf has to lift his head up again. “Historian or librarian would be ideal, but teaching might be fun, too.”  
  


“You wanna get your master’s, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I can see you being a historian. You always wanna get right to the root of things, always want that big answer. If you decide you only wanna get your bachelor’s, you could teach. That way you’re sharing all your knowledge with people. You also get your summers off still, if you teach.”

“True,” Alex replies. 

“I still stand by what I said earlier,” Oscar restates. “You need to learn how to get along with Henry, even if his beliefs differ from yours.”

“But _why?_ ” He asks, acting pitiful.  
  


“Because there are always going to be people in this world that don’t like you, son.” His father tells him. “And you shouldn’t make your life any harder than it needs to be.”

Alex grimaces. “Are you trying to make this a trans thing?”

“It was supposed to be a Latino man living in a world made to benefit white people thing, but it’s honestly a trans thing, too.” Oscar admits, leaning against the counter. “Now, I don’t know what Henry said to you that you deemed to be offensive— and I don’t really wanna know because boys your age are a bunch of jackasses— but I can guarantee that you’ll hear worse in your lifetime. For the sake of the show, and your GPA, you need to at least try.”

Raf leans down until his mouth is level with Alex’s ear. “ _Just say yes. I’ll get you out of it if the kid keeps giving you trouble.”_ He whispers, and Alexander sighs, nodding.

“Alright,” He relents. “I’ll try.”

“I knew you’d make the right decision, _mijo_.” Oscar replies, and it’s hard not to laugh as his chest puffs up with pride. 

“Hair’s done!” Raf announces, handing Alex a mirror that had been previously sitting on the island. “Let me know if you want it shorter or anything like that.”

Alex holds the mirror up to his face, and is genuinely shocked by how good it looks. It’s been tapered on the sides and in the back, but the top’s been long enough for him to style and play with. His loose waves are much more noticeable this way, and it all looks so unbelievably effortless; a true gentleman’s haircut. 

“It looks awesome,” He replies, running his fingers through it. “Thanks, Raf.”

Rafael smiles, clapping him on the shoulder. “No problem— go ahead and wash up. Dinner will be in twenty, right babe?” He asks, turning to Oscar.

“Twenty to thirty.” Oscar confirms.

As Alex heads up the stairs, he begins to form a list in his head that has absolutely no semblance of organization:

1\. His dad is very much still afraid of his mom and June.

2\. Raf said that he can get him out of this if things with Henry get worse.

3\. Raf can give one hell of a haircut.

4\. Henry better get ready to face the music, because he’ll be damned if some posh little shithead from across the pond gets in the way of him graduating with honors at the end of May. 

  
The first script read-through that Monday goes terribly. Well, everyone actually did pretty good— except for him and Henry. He remembers several instances from class. Henry was disgruntled that it took him too long to read his lines— he’d also accused him of reading his lines with no emotion. 

“Between your illiteracy and your lack of passion, I think I’d have a better time reciting my lines to the wall.” Henry had spat, and Alex simply smiled at him, dropped his script beside his feet on the stage, and then sat down beside it.

“Go ahead, sweetheart. See if the wall’s a better fit.” He’d replied, laying back with his arms behind his head. 

“Mister Fox, Mister Claremont-Diaz, take a seat.” Amy had ordered, tone laced with venom. “I’ve already called both of your parents. You’ll be staying after school to run over your lines in private. If you don’t show up, zero for the day and detention for the rest of the week.”  
  


So, here they are at 3:30 in the afternoon, having made absolutely no progress whatsoever. Henry only seems to be getting more antsy and angry with every misread line, and Alex just doesn’t see why this is such a big deal to him.

“Take five, guys; gotta deal with the costume people.” Amy says, vanishing from the black box to take a phone call. 

Henry sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can you at least _pretend_ that you’re taking this seriously when Mrs. Chen comes back?”

“Now, why would I do a silly thing like that?” Alex questions, and that only makes Henry’s pale face turn a very unattractive shade of red. 

“Because this show actually _matters_ to _everyone else_ in this department, Alexander,” He hisses. “So, if you could pull your head out of arse, it would be much appreciated.”

Alex snorts. “ _I’m_ the one who has their head in their ass? Pretty ironic, coming from someone like you.”

“What’s _that_ even supposed to mean?” Henry asks, sounding exasperated, and definitely looking like it.

“You are the biggest, _bitchiest_ snob I have ever met. You’re completely disillusioned with reality, and so, _so_ uptight. Like, we _get_ it. Your life’s peaking at graduation, but you don’t have to take it out on the rest of us.”

Henry has fallen completely silent, his eyes crackling like lightning and thunder, his lips pressed into an unbearably thin line. Even when he’s angry, he’s perfect; it’s disgusting.   
  


“You haven’t got the slightest idea as to what I go through,” Henry asks, letting his script fall to the ground. “Do you?”

Alex feels all the blood rush to his face, his jaw clenching in anger. “I think that if anyone here’s clueless, it’s gotta be you.”

“ _Christ_ , Alex!” Henry finally exclaims, eyes welling up with tears of frustration. “I don’t know what you want from me! How am I supposed to _react?_ What am I to _say_ to you? I don’t know what I’ve done to warrant this treatment from you, I really don’t.”

“I—“ Alexander stumbles, not anticipating this sort of reaction. “Do you really _not_ know?”

“No,” Henry replies, head tipped up towards the sky, soothing himself by wrapping his arms around his midsection. “I don’t.”

Alex sighs. “On my first day here, do you remember our English class walking out to the parking lot after the final bell rang?”

Henry sniffs, his brows knitting together. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

Alex rolls his eyes. “My dads came to pick me up, and I don’t know if you thought I didn’t hear you, or what was going through your mind, but you turned to Pez, and you said ‘ _you don’t see people like them too often around here.’_ Like, what the fuck, dude? People like them? Didn’t realize that it was some big _fucking_ scandal that my parents are in a loving relationship.” He spits, and Henry’s jaw drops, eyes widening in shock.

Henry quickly gets a hold on himself, floundering for the right words to say. “Alex, I know that sounds terrible, but I can assure you that’s not how I meant it.”

“How can I know that?”  
  


Henry sighs, closing his eyes. “If you tell anyone what I’m about to tell you, so help me, I will ruin your life.”

Alex snorts, rolling his eyes. “Don’t worry, princess. I’ll keep your little secret.”

“I’m gay.”  
  


This catches Alexander off guard; he can feel his throat constricting. “You’re gay?” He echoes, double checking.

Henry nods. “When I said ‘ _people like them’_ , I just meant, I dunno, happy gay people living happy gay lives, I guess. That was the first time I’d seen people like me living the life I want. I’d been taught that was, well, unattainable, to say the very least.”

Alex has immediately shifted from hating Henry’s guts, to feeling sorry for him. “Dude, I don’t know who told you that,” He starts, chuckling. “But that’s the furthest thing from the truth that I have ever heard. Now, it’d be different if the year was 1961,” He allows, grimacing. “But it _isn’t_. You literally live in California, Henry. The world’s practically your oyster at this point.”

Henry sighs. “Maybe that would be the case for you if you were to come out, but it’s not for me.” He replies.

“What do you mean by that?” Alex asks, making his way over to where Henry’s been standing. 

“Well, my dad’s job takes him out of the country quite a lot, and my mum’s a linguistics professor at UC Davis; I don’t see my parents a lot, so I’m mostly being brought up by my older siblings. My sister’s fine, but my brother— he’s got this obsession with molding me into this perfect person. I guess I’ve let myself slip a few too many times, because he’s made I quite clear that no brother of his will be gay.”

“He’s a dick,” Alex says, oh so wise and astute.

Henry chuckles uncomfortably. “Yeah, but I’m stuck with him, so there’s not much I can do.”

Alex digs a pen out of his hoodie pocket, crouches down, and scrawls his phone number above the title of Henry’s script.

“What’s that for?” Henry asks, looking very confused and thrown off. 

“Just in case you ever need someone to talk to, or somewhere to go,” He replies. He feels something bubbling up, hesitates, then finally says it. “I’m trans, by the way.”  
  


Henry’s brows shoot up. “Really?”

Alex smiles. “One year on testosterone on Wednesday.”  
  


“Congratulations,” Henry replies, followed up with, “Why are you telling me this?”

Alex shrugs. “So we’re even; I'm not telling so long as you’re not. Deal?” He questions, sticking out his hand.

Henry stares down at it for a moment, before grasping Alexander’s hand in his own, and giving it a firm squeeze; his fingers are freezing. “Deal.”

Amy comes back inside, and dismisses them for the day, saying something about needing to confirm inventory and investing in some smaller props.

They walk out of the building in silence, but Henry speaks up as soon as they make it out the door. 

“Do you need a ride home?” He asks, digging his keys out of the side pocket of his backpack. “I can give you one, if need be.”

“Nah, I’m good,” Alex replies, giving him an amiable grin. “Pretty sure I can get my stepdad to come pick me up.”

“Alright,” Henry replies, smiling. “Don’t forget your readers tomorrow, or I’ll go absolutely mad.”

Alex snorts. “I know you will, believe me.”

They exchange their goodbyes, and Alex counts down the minutes until Raf shows up to get him; exactly ten.   
  


“How’d it go?” Is the first thing he hears after piling into the car. 

“Pretty good,” He admits, setting his bag in the backseat, buckling in. “Henry’s actually not as bad of a guy as I thought he was.”

Rafael’s smile makes him want to puke. “Oh, really? Tell me more.”

As Alex starts recounting the day, another list begins to form in his mind:

1\. He’s much more oblivious than he realizes. 

2\. He has a tendency to jump to conclusions.

3\. Henry’s a really nice, really passionate guy. 

4\. Henry doesn’t deserve all the shit he gets from his brother. 

His evening is filled with teasing _‘I told you so’_ s from Oscar, with old _Will & Grace_ reruns over dinner in the living room, with Raf screaming at the top of his lungs to _You Oughta Know_ by Alanis Morissette at eleven thirty at night while on a snack run to Trader Joe’s for hot chips and ice cream. 

He doesn’t know what’s so special about today, but he’s finally starting to feel a little more welcome in California.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of trauma & overdose, crying

That Wednesday, Henry texts him for the first time. He’d ultimately decided— after quite a bit of pestering— to stay at home with Raf and Oscar for the day. It was less because he wanted to stay home, and more of a general convenience for everyone in the house. Oscar wouldn’t have to leave work early to pick him up from school and take him to therapy, and he wouldn’t have to sit in class and pretend to pay attention whilst his anxiety gnawed away at his insides.   
  


The session, well, it wasn’t easy on him. They rarely are, but his therapist suggested reintroducing his mother and June into his life, and the thought of it made his insides churn. He wasn’t ready for that; he loves them so, so much, but he’s honestly afraid of talking to them, after everything that happened. Oscar and Raf didn’t say anything when they came to pick him up, let him have his little moment in the backseat while they drove around aimlessly, a familiar song Alex remembers from their wedding reception playing on the radio, acoustic guitar and soft vocals filtering through the speakers.

They made him eat and drink something in the parking lot of a fast food restaurant. There was something in that moment that was just so cathartic— crying and eating chicken nuggets and drinking iced tea while he listens to his dads’ shitty music. There were no words in the English language to describe how he felt in that moment, but God, was he feeling it.

“You’ve gotta stop crying, _mijo_.” Oscar eventually said on the way home, reaching back and offering his hand to hold. “You’ll make yourself sick, if you keep on this way.”

Alex had let out a wet sob, taking his father’s hand. “I’m sorry.” He apologizes. 

“Don’t be,” Oscar replied, voice caught in his throat.

He caught his breath, and continued. “Shaan wants me to talk to Mom.”

“I know,” Oscar said, squeezing his hand, firm and tight. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Alex sobbed once again. “Well, I’ve gotta do it at some point.”

Oscar sighed. “I know.” He echoed, his voice much softer than before. “I know you do.”

They go home, and he’s curled up in bed, exhausted and cried out, when his phone buzzes twice. He knew that he probably should have ignored it, but he needed a temporary distraction from the feelings of anxiety and dread flowing through him, so he picked it up anyways. Two texts from an unknown number.

**We missed you in theatre and  
English today. Hope you’re going over your lines. **

Alex had been confused, until his eyes had skimmed over the second message.  
  


**This is Henry, by the way.**

From there it had been a flurry of messages back and forth. He hadn’t been expecting to form such a quick bond with Henry, but here they were, trading midnight selfies over Mrs. Bankston’s econ projects, Henry asking for Mr. Westbrook’s government worksheet answers and providing a summary of the last two chapters of _Lord of the Flies_ they read for Cash’s class. Alex finds himself opening up in ways he definitely hadn’t anticipated to. They talk about everything; hobbies, school, home— nothing is off the table with them. Alex relates to the loving struggle of having an older sister; Henry sends him songs that Bea’s made on her laptop, and in return, Alex sends articles that June’s written for _The Texas Tribune_. Alex learns a lot about Henry, like his recent anxiety diagnosis, and the fact that his whole family stays in New York in the summertime; it’s some of the only time that he sees his father. He finds himself revealing bits and pieces of himself, too— Henry knows that he was sent here by his mother, and that adjusting to living in Sacramento has been surprisingly hard. For every candid picture of David and Mr. Wobbles cuddling on Henry’s bed, Alex sends a picture of the ugly little Persian cat that sleeps on the porch. 

They’ve been more friendly at their in-person rehearsals as well. Henry still gets upset whenever Alex stumbles over his line, or does the opposite of what’s been stated in his stage directions, but he’s trying to keep it under control as best as he can, and that’s honestly all that Alex could ever ask of him.

“I’m proud of you guys,” Amy tells them on the way out of class on Friday, a glimmer of pride in her eyes. “Before casting, you two wouldn’t even sit in the same row together, and now look at you two.”

Henry stares down at his shoes, smiling. “Well, it turns out that we could have gotten along the whole time, had we not jumped to conclusions.”

Alexander feels his face redden, but says nothing. 

Amy laughs, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “That does tend to happen sometimes. I’m just glad it was something we could talk about and work out. We’ve got a long way to go, especially with Alex’s reading and line delivery—“

“Hey now,” He starts, his tone becoming defensive. “It’s not _that_ bad.”

Henry snorts. “It’s pretty bad.”

“Like I said, a _long_ way to go,” Amy resumes. “But you guys are doing great so far. Keep doing what you’re doing, and you guys ever need anything, my office door is always open.”

Amy walks out, and Alex immediately turns to face Henry. “Am I really _that_ bad?” He asks, both mildly offended and trying not to laugh. 

Henry pinches his lips together, and averts his eyes.

Alex gasps in mock horror. “What happened to you correcting me on everything I was doing wrong?”

“You didn’t like it when I did that,” Henry points out, shuffling up the black box steps. “So I stopped doing it.”

“Well, it’s different if I _suck!_ ” Alex exclaims, trailing behind him, his short strides unable to keep up with Henry’s, large and long. 

Henry turns around, a look of strange fondness on his face. “You _don’t_ suck, you just— you need a bit of fine tuning. You’re actually quite talented, in my eyes at least.” He says, eyes widening just a bit at the sound of the bell. “I’ve got to go, Bea’s probably out in the parking lot wondering where the hell I am.” He chuckles, jogging the rest of the way up the stairs. “See you in English!”

“See you in English,” Alex echoes, watching the big metal doors shut behind Henry. 

He’s not sure why, but he feels like he’s on fire. 

That same weekend, he makes the decision to unblock his mother and June for one hour-long FaceTime call. He doesn’t owe this to them— Oscar and Rafael have made this more than apparent— but it’s been nagging at the back of his mind since Wednesday, and he knows that it will continue to nag until he physically does something about it. 

He feels like a bit of an idiot for not anticipating the amount of anxiety this is currently putting him through. He hasn’t even started the video call yet, and his hands are clammy and trembling, his heart beating so fast that he feels like he’s just participated in a goddamn triathlon. He pulls his knees up to his chest, and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to keep his breathing level and steady. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Oscar chimes in from the opposite end of the sectional, an arm around Raf’s shoulders, both of them cozied up under one of the bigger throw blankets in the house. “If you’re still uncomfortable with speaking with them, then there’s no need to do this.”

“I _wanna_ do this, Alex argues, sitting up properly. “I just need you guys to be in here with me when I’m talking to them, and get me out if you see me freaking out.” He explains. 

“What do you want us to do?” Raf asks, head on Oscar’s shoulder. 

“Just— act like you’re calling me from another room, or something. Say something about filing for student aid or doing homework.” He suggests, thinking on his feet. 

They all hesitate, and Oscar speaks up again. 

“We both know that the fast few months have been really rough on you, Alex,” He says, and Alexander is shocked by the seriousness in his tone. “And we just want you to know how proud you are.”  
  


“Thank you,” He replies, not missing the way his voice strains. He feels guilty, accepting his father’s praise this way. He definitely hasn’t done anything worthy of deserving it.

“Really,” Raf emphasizes. “You made a mistake, owed up to it, and you’re a good kid despite it. Because of it. We’re, well, we’re really happy that you came to stay with us.” He admits, and Alex has to internalize a sob. 

He takes a few deep breaths before responding. “I’m glad I came here, too.” He replies, staring at the screen of his laptop. He counts back from ten, once, twice, then clicks the call icon. 

He counts four little chimes before the call connects, and when it does, only June’s sitting in front of the camera, sipping something out of a tumbler, magenta nail polish cracked from her habit of anxious picking. She’s done her hair again since he’s left; she’s got caramel brown highlights, now. They look nice on her.

“Hey,” She greets, and it seems that she's just as hesitant as he is. 

“Hi,” He responds, immediately cringing at the way his voice cracks. “Where’s Mom?”  
  


“Oh, she just got up from a nap so she’s doing her hair right now,” She replies, faint trace of a smile on her face. “Dad and Raf there?” She asks.

“No,” He lies through his teeth. “Dad's upstairs in their room, and Raf’s doing laundry. Something about ‘giving me privacy.’” He snorts, putting air quotes around his words. He briefly looks up, and Raphael and Oscar both nod in return. Keeping quiet, and listening in. 

“Ah,” June replies, taking another sip from his cup. “Privacy. Can’t imagine what that’s like.”

“Well, you should be getting more, considering I’m not there.” He chuckles.

June shrugs. “Mom’s awkward, and you know how she just _loves_ to hover.” She reminds him, her voice oozing with sarcasm. 

Alex hums, an idea springing to the forefront of his mind. “Can I set some boundaries before we go any further?”

June nods. “Sure, lay it on me.”

“I don’t wanna talk about the hospital, and I don’t wanna talk about getting on the plane, if it can be avoided,” He tells her. “I’ll talk about rehab, and therapy, if she’s that desperate to know, but I don’t wanna talk about all that.”

“That’s so valid of you,” June responds. “I can’t imagine how you felt in either one of those moments. It had to be a lot.”

“Well, you know,” He says, shrugging it off for the sake of moving on to talk about something else. “Had to learn my lesson sooner or later. Glad it was sooner.”

“Amen,” June breathes, and that’s when Ellen walks into the room. She looks the exact same that she did when he left, albeit much less stressed; much less angry. She’s dressed in casual clothes today, and her face is soft and bright.

“Are you on yet?” She asks, coming to sit down. “Or are we still waiting?”

“We’re on,” June tells her, gesturing to the screen. “Alex, say hi to Mom.”

“Hi, Mom.” He announces, waving his hand and making himself known. 

Ellen smiles at him. It doesn’t do anything to help his nerves. “Hey, sugar. How have things been?”

From there, he struggles through fifty-five minutes of inane small talk. Conversations with his mother about school and therapy and rehab and friends; she was so happy to learn that he’s made friends. He’s trying not to see it as a personal slight. June had to cut out at the forty minute mark— she had just remembered then that she had an assignment due at the end of the next hour. 

“I’ve got one more question to ask you before we go sweetheart,” Ellen tells him, and he tenses. Leave it to Ellen Claremont to save the best for last. “It’s a bit touchy, so you don’t have to answer it if you’re not comfortable sharing that information with me.”

“I’m sure I can handle it,” He replies, perhaps a bit too quickly, just wanting to get it all over with. “Ask away.”

“I—“ She pauses, sighing. “I need to know why you did it. I know it’s invasive, and it’s nosy, and it’s a deeply personal question, but I’ve been losing sleep over it.”

A million and five different things spring to the forefront of his mind. He was a trans kid in a southern state with very little chance of getting out. He was constantly dysphoric with a buzzing mind and needed a break. His entirely AP load was a crippling burden on his shoulders. He’d been reduced to crying and panic attacks from not being able to complete assignments unless he worked well into the morning. The list goes on, and on, and on. 

“Alexander, honey, are you still there?” Ellen asks, sounding concerned. 

“Yes ma’am,” He responds, looking down at his trembling hands. He’s still there, barely. Suddenly, he snaps to it, remembers his contingency plan. “Look, I’ve gotta go, I think Raf’s calling me. He promised to help me with an assignment for one of my classes.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” Ellen tells him, looking taken aback. “We’ll have to do this again sometime soon.”

“Sure,” He replies, mouse already on the end call button, tears already welling up in his eyes. “This was fun.”

“It was,” Ellen acknowledges, and her face has suddenly gone rigid and stiff; she knows that she’s misstepped. “I love you, sugar. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Bye, Mom.” He replies, ending the call as soon as he feels the first few tears begin to stream down his face.

“Alex, honey, what’s—“ Raf starts, but Alex slams his laptop shut and stands up before he can get anything else out. 

“I need to be alone right now,” He tells them, wiping his eyes. 

“That’s fine, _mijo_.” Oscar replies. He sounds guilty, and it physically pains Alex. “Leave your door unlocked, okay? Just so we can come check on you in a little bit.”

Alex nods in response, not looking back as he makes his way up the stairs, two at a time, slipping into his room and shutting the door behind himself. He tucks himself into the furthest corner from the door, and a thought comes to mind. A childish, fleeting, foolish little thought, one that he definitely shouldn’t be considering right now. 

Against his better judgment, he calls Henry. The call takes a while to go through, but when it does, he doesn’t realize it at first. 

“Hello?” Henry asks, his soft, clear voice washing over Alex like a tidal wave. “You there, Alex?”

“Yeah,” Alex replies, and it’s then that he realizes that he’s still crying, hard. He sniffs, tries his damnedest to get his breathing under control. “I’m here— hey.”

“Bea’s here,” Henry tells him, tone flowing with jubilance. “Say hi, Bea.”

“Hi, Alex!” Bea chimes in pleasantly, somewhere distant in the background. “Henry and I are having a gal’s day; I’ve even painted his nails—“ She says, her next words inaudible, as if someone’s shoved a pillow in her direction. 

“Sounds like fun,” Alex croaks, and he cringes, knowing that he’s just given himself away.

“Alex,” Henry says, slow and quiet. “Is something wrong?”

“Yeah, uhm,” He starts, letting out an involuntary sob. “I just got off a video call with my mom.”

Henry’s voice is barely audible, but Alexander can make out what he’s saying. “Yes, some privacy would be lovely. Yeah, you can take the crisps. Shut the door on the way out, please.” A moment later, speaking directly to Alex this time, he poses a question. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

And so, for the first time, Alex tells the story from start to finish. He talks about the end of junior year, how Hunter from APUSH knew he was falling behind in his studies, and started offering him Ritalin. He talks about how he was hooked on it, and frequented Hunter’s house for the majority of the summer, doing absolutely degrading things to get his fix. How he would take anything labeled an amphetamine, just to get that much more work done, just to stay up that much longer. How between the dysphoria, his nightmares and his workload was so terrible at the beginning of senior year, that he would take the pills blind— not bothering to count, only stopping when he saw God and came back down to Earth a jittering, sweaty mess. He talks about how he’d emptied half of Liam’s bottle of Adderall into a plastic baggie, and taken the whole thing right before studying for an AP Government exam. How June found him fifteen minutes later. The two weeks he spent in the hospital before going home. June waking him up in the middle of the night three days after he got home. Being shoved into the car and driven all the way to the airport while being screamed at by his heartbroken mother. Being put on a plane to Arizona against his will. Two months of rehab where he refused to see or speak to anyone. Moving in with his dads. 

Just when he thinks he can’t talk, or cry anymore, he hears Henry sniffling on the other line. 

“You are,” Henry tells him, voice wobbling in a way that somehow manages to make Alex more upset. “One of the bravest people I’ve ever met.”

“Don’t say that,” Alex tells him, nearly pleading. “I’m just selfish—“

“No.” Henry insists. “You’re _hurting_ , and the fact that you were able to say all that out loud to me proves my point.”

Alex was wrong; he is perfectly capable of crying more. 

“I wish you were here,” He blurts, somehow embarrassing himself even more. For a brief moment, he considers hanging up, until Henry replies.

“I do, too.”

Henry kept his mind busy for a good while before Alex felt well enough to hang up; he kept him entertained with discussions of Greek mythology whilst playing Tchaikovsky on the piano in the living room, told him just about a million animal facts, and assured him over and over again that he wasn’t weak, that everyone has their breaking points, and that he should be proud of the person he’s become. 

Thirty minutes later, Oscar and Raf come into his room with the sole purpose of cheering him up. They coax him downstairs into the living room, set him up in the middle of the sectional with copious pillows and blankets, and have him write about his feelings in his journal he shows Shaan. It feels like busy work at first, but the longer he writes, the better he feels. They make him drink water and give him chewable medication for the headache that’s sure to come from all the crying. Oscar even kisses his cheek— a rarity saved for unspoken moments of pain. Raf brushes a curl out of his eye, talking about how they love him so, _so_ much.

They head back to their room, but leave the door open, in case he needs anything, only leaving after triple-checking that he’ll be okay on his own. He’s bone-weary, mentally drained, and the aforementioned headache is making its grand debut, when he hears his phone buzz. 

**I hope you’re on your way to feeling better,** a single text from Henry reads. **We all have our bad days, and you made it through this one. You should be proud of yourself; I know I am.**

**Thank you,** he replies, hands trembling as he types. **For everything you did to help me today.**

Henry replies within seconds. **Of course. That’s what friends are for.**

It’s then that Alex falls asleep from pure exhaustion, phone still clutched in his hand, welcoming a few hours of thoughtless oblivion without putting up a fight. 


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow I’m back!! School really does keep a gal busy lol. Things do be progressin in this chapter tho 👀

Henry offers to pick Alex up for school on Sunday night. For some unknown reason, Alex finds himself saying yes. It feels like he’s walking right into some sort of cruel joke; he’s had a hard time believing that Henry’s still willing to talk to him after that phone call on Saturday. It had to have been too much for him; he knows that would have been a lot for most people to handle. 

Alex is genuinely surprised to see Henry pulling into the driveway in his electric blue Mustang at seven-thirty the next morning; the vehicle is absolutely ostentatious, but it suits him. He lays his hand on the horn— twice— and Alex finds himself prying his bedroom window open with his too-short fingernails. 

_“Give me a few minutes!”_ He shouts down to him, smiling at the thumbs-up that Henry responds with. 

He scrambles to put together his backpack and a sensible outfit, doing the bare minimum with his hair, tripping over his feet as he makes his way downstairs. 

“I could’ve taken you, you know,” Raf says from the coffeemaker, looking bleary and tired in his pajamas and robe. 

“It’s fine, Dad.” Alex breathes, stopping to take his vitamin supplements with a glass of water; he didn’t want to keep Henry waiting by sitting down to eat. 

The room goes quiet, and Oscar’s the one to speak up from his seat at the island. “Did you just call Raf ‘ _dad’, mijo?_ ” He asks, and Alex chokes on a gulp of water.

“What? No, I didn’t.” He responds, knowing that his lie is nowhere near believable, floundering for any firm grounding he can find.

“No, you _definitely_ did,” Oscar insists, a strange bark of laughter getting lost in his throat. “You said, ‘It’s fine, Dad’.” He repeats, filling his voice with huffy annoyance and teenage angst, mocking Alexander. 

“I didn’t—“ Alex says stiffly, face heating up. 

“Do you think of me as a father figure, Alexander?” Raf asks, and well, it doesn’t feel quite right to lie about that one for the sake of saving face. 

The resounding silence makes Oscar let out a bellowing laugh. “We’re talking about this when you get home today.”

“ _No_ ,” Alex says, tone holding a sense of finality. “We are _not_.”

He evacuates the kitchen, face still burning with humiliation as he shuts the front door behind himself on the way out.

“Hello,” Henry greets as he slips into the passenger side seat. “How’s your morning going?”

“I just called Raf ‘ _dad_ ’ for the first time,” Alex groans, burying his face in his hands and letting out a long, loud sigh. 

“Oh,” Henry replies, sounding half-amused, half-empathetic. “Is that something that you wanted to happen, or?” He trails off, pulling out of the driveway and starting down the road.

“I mean, not really, but it’s already over and done with, so there’s no point in dwelling on it.” He replies, quickly shifting the topic. “So, how was your weekend?”

“I feel like I should be the one asking you that, honestly,” Henry admits, and Alex finds himself gnawing on his bottom lip whilst muttering brief answers to thought-provoking questions for the duration of the ride to school. 

Rehearsal was absolutely brutal later in the day, leaving Alex with a sour mentality and a major migraine. 

“I feel like we do some more one-on-one practice together,” Henry says, jamming his script back into his backpack. “We’ll finally be able to work out why you’re so stiff that way.” He says, chuckling. 

“And where, pray tell, are we going to do that?” Alex questions, still flustered from both Amy and Pez’s constructive criticism; if he knew he was going to be berated for every single misstep, he would have doubled down on his instance to be removed from the production altogether.   
  


“Well, I suppose you should pick, since I’m the one forcing you to do this,” Henry jokes, smiling softly. “So wherever you’d like to is fine with me.”

“We could run lines at my house?” He finds himself suggesting. “My dads will be cool with it, and _hopefully_ , they’ll leave us alone.”  
  


Henry snorts. “Are you embarrassed of them?” He asks.

Alex’s heart stutters, rapidly running through appropriate responses in his mind. “I’m not, I—“ He stammers, caught off guard by Henry’s laughter.

“I’m only playing, Alex. Lighten up a bit, would you?” Henry teases, bumping him in the shoulder. “Running lines at your place sounds lovely.” He settles. The dismissal bell rings, and he gives a quick wave. “Gotta go— remember to read the SparkNotes summary for chapter six; last thing you need is to be unprepared when Cash singles you out.”

Alex laughs, awkward and oddly shy. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“Anytime,” Henry replies, heading up the stairs and through the exit door. 

He hadn’t processed it until he was left alone in the black box, but there’s still a smattering of navy blue polish on Henry’s nails; he finds it both endearing and brave that he didn’t completely remove it over the weekend. As the late bell rings, he comes to a second realization: he’s fallen into a strange little habit of watching Henry as he walks out of rooms. He’ll have to get a handle on that. 

When they pull into the driveway, Alex is positively sweating. He doesn't know why he’s so nervous, it isn’t like he hasn’t practiced alone with Henry before. There’s just something so distinctly personal about bringing an outside element into his home— odd isn’t the word he’s looking for; he feels vulnerable. Achingly so. He’s sure that his dads will try to back him into a corner as soon as he walks in the front door too, so he finds a dry throat and clammy hands are more than acceptable. 

“You alright?” Henry asks him, and that’s when it clicks that they’ve been sitting out here with the car turned off for at least five minutes.

“Uhm, yeah,” He responds, trying to shrug off his nerves. “Just— let me know if my dads are too much, alright?”

Henry smiles warmly, and for some reason he can’t quite explain, it helps with the current ebb and flow of his nerves. “I’m sure they’ll be lovely, Alex. You don’t need to be so nervous about them around me.”

Alex nods. “Right.” He takes a deep breath, exhales, and opens his door, lugging his bag out with him as he makes his way up the front steps, Henry close behind him. 

What he did not expect to find upon walking in, however, is his fathers canoodling in the kitchen. It seems to be a situation of abandoned work, Oscar’s glasses pushed up into his hair, laughing against Rafael’s skin whilst he adorns it with kisses. Raf’s laughing too, trying to push Oscar away. He never pushes too hard though; he’s been dipped into this position, the last thing he needs to do is fall and knick his head on the corner of the table. 

“Let me go, old man!” Raf insists, hands shoving against Oscar’s chest.

“If you insist,” Oscar replies, letting his arms give out a bit to make Raf think he’s falling, tightening his arms back up just a moment later. Raf yelps and goes from shoving Oscar away to gripping at his shirt; Oscar is giggling like an idiot, pressing kisses to Raf’s lips and forehead. 

Alex cringes with embarrassment; Henry makes a soft noise in the back of his throat.  


“You guys are _gross_ ,” Alexander declares, and Oscar rolls his eyes, hoisting Rafael back up into a standing position. 

“Shouldn’t you be writing your ABCs or something?” Oscar asks, and Alex snorts.

“I dunno, shouldn’t y’all be _working_ or something?” Alex retorts.  
  


“It’s called a day off, _osito_. We have those sometimes; we were just budgeting for the week, and your dad got bored.” Raf replies, and Oscar sticks his tongue out in retaliation. “Who’s this?”

Alex, still red with embarrassment at an old nickname, introduces one part of his life to the other, bridging the gap between his public and personal life. Oscar shakes Henry’s hand, notices the nail polish on his fingers, and turns to Alex with a smile.

_“¿Este es el chico que te dio tantos problemas?“_

_Is this the guy that gave you so much trouble?_

All Alex can do in response is glare. “We’re going upstairs to go over lines; please don’t bother us.”

Raf hums, a sage expression on his face. “Will Henry be staying over for dinner?”

“No sir, but thank you for the offer,” Henry replies, smiling politely. 

“Of course, kid, anytime,” Oscar replies, turning to Alex. “Keep that door open, alright?”

Alex suppresses a groan, nods, and heads upstairs, setting his backpack down at the foot of his bed and pulling his script out of the binder he’s been keeping it crammed in. Henry sits down on the bed beside him, rifling through his own backpack.

“Your dads are so cute,” He says, and Alex groans.

“They aren’t _cute_ , they're _embarrassing_.” He corrects, surprised to hear Henry chuckling. 

“How are they embarrassing?” Henry asks. “They act like the average happy couple.”

“Exactly.” Alex replies, and Henry snorts. 

“What will you do if you ever fall in love?” Henry asks. “Will you act the same way around her that you do around your parents?”

Alex isn’t quite sure why, but what Henry just said doesn’t feel right. 

“Let’s just practice our lines, okay?” He says, and Henry purses his lips into a thin line.

“Someone’s bossy,” He breathes.

“I am _not_ bossy.”

“Of course not— how silly of me to say so.”

“ _Henry_.”

They finish the scene they’d paused on in class that day, before moving onto the next one. If there’s one thing he enjoys about practicing privately with Henry, it’s that Henry knows how hard he’s trying; he realizes that Alex is completely out of his element, and his criticism isn’t as biting or cruel as Pez and Amy’s. It’s appreciated, to say the least. 

“Good pilgrim,” Henry recites, occasionally looking down to his script. “You do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this: for saints have hands that pilgrims hands do touch, and palm to palm,” He reads, holding up his hand. Hesitantly, Alex reaches up as well, pressing their hands together. It doesn’t feel how he thought it would; it feels right. “Is holy palmer’s kiss.”

Alex looks down to make sure he’s not about to completely butcher his lines, and Henry guides his head back up, two fingers beneath his chin.

“You know it.” He insists.

Alex shakes his head. “I don’t.”

“How do you know that?” Henry asks, and Alex’s mouth feels very, very dry. “Say it.”

“Have not,” Alex starts, running over the line in his mind. “Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?”

Henry smiles. “Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in pray’r.”

“O then, dear saint,” Alex breathes, feeling more nervous to mess up by the moment. “Let lips do what hands do, they pray— grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.”

Henry’s smile grows wider, filled with pride. “Saints do not move, though grant for prayer’s sake.”

Alex’s mind goes completely blank. He looks down to find where they are, and Henry immediately guides him back up. 

“You can do it,” Henry encourages. “We’ve read this scene at least twenty times; I know you can do it.”

Alex catches his bottom lip between his teeth, speaking up when Henry squeezes his hand. “Then— then move not while my prayer’s effect I take. Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purg’d.” He finishes, looking down at the script. “It says we’re supposed to kiss here,” He observes, ever so astute. 

“Would you like to give it a try?” Henry offers. “You don’t have to, of course. I just think it might be helpful if we, you know,” He says, using a hand gesture to finish the end of his sentence; Alex gulps. 

“Yeah,” He responds, shaking his head. “It’ll be better for us to get it out of the way now than do it for the first time on opening night.”

Henry nods. “Precisely. Whenever you’re ready.”

This moment feels so poignant to Alex, and he doesn’t know why. He leans in, hesitant, and presses his mouth to Henry’s. It’s clumsy at first, but then Henry’s kissing back, and he’s not quite sure what to do with himself. His lips are warm, chapped, and worn. Just when it all feels a little too suffocating, Henry pulls away, starting right back where they left off. 

“Then have my lips the sin that they have took,” He breathes, and Alex has to laugh; Henry can be an enigma, at times. 

“Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urg’d! Give me my sin again.”

Henry’s lips are on his again, and he knows what to expect this time; he would be lying to himself if he didn’t recognize the fact that he’s leaning into it.

When they separate, Henry’s satisfied smirk says it all. “You kiss by th’ book.”

Alexander Gabriel Claremont-Diaz thinks he might be bisexual. 

He has come to this conclusion at three in the morning, on a school night, after two back-to-back phone calls with Nora and Liam. According to Nora, she’d thought he’d had about a seventy-nine percent chance of being bi upon their first meeting. According to Liam, with whom he’s done much more than trade simple pecks with, that percentage is much, much higher. 

While he’s glad that he’s come to this conclusion, he hates that it’s keeping him awake this way. He’s already surrendered sleep to the forces at work; he’ll just be extra tired when Henry comes to pick him up tomorrow. Quietly, so as to not wake anyone else up, he makes his way downstairs, in pursuit of coffee and a chance to use the television without anyone else around. 

When he gets down there, he sees that both options are off the table; Oscar and Raf are sitting in the living room together and sharing a bottle of wine, watching _Bridgerton_ together. Alex nearly gags; talk about trash television. He’s about to go back upstairs, but before he can, it’s made apparent that his presence is known.

“Ah, ah,” Oscar calls out, and he pauses mid turn. “What are you doing?”

Alex sighs. “I can’t sleep, so I was gonna come down here to sit for a while. Y’all are busy down here though, so I’m gonna head back up to bed.”

“C’mere,” Oscar instructs, beckoning him over and patting the couch. Alex takes a seat, weary. “You know, you can talk to Raf and I about whatever’s bothering you—“

“What makes you think something’s bothering me?” Alex immediately asks, defensive. 

“Well, _is_ something bothering you?” Raf questions, and Alexander sighs.

“Yeah,” He admits. “It’s— it’s a small thing, but it’s also a big thing, I guess.”

Oscar hums, leaning back. Raf sets his wine glass on the coffee table. 

“You guys are gonna think I’m totally blowing this out of proportion,” He sighs, scrubbing his face with his hands. 

“If it’s a big deal to you, then it’s a big deal to us.” Oscar asserts, setting a hand on his shoulder, patient. 

“I think I like guys,” Alex blurts, shaking just a bit. 

Oscar falls silent.

“Oh,” Rafael replies, not quite elaborating on what that means. He doesn’t sound confused, or angry, or upset— Alex didn’t expect him to. He holds his emotions well. “Can you elaborate on what that means?”

Alex lifts his head up, drawing his knees to his chest. “Do you guys remember when Henry was here earlier?” He asks, continuing when they both nod. “Well, we were cast as opposites in Romeo and Jules, but you already knew that. It’s basically just Romeo and Juliet, but character genders don’t matter. Our characters end up kissing a lot, and since we didn’t want our first kiss onstage to be awkward, we sort of, just, practiced? I don’t know, we kissed twice, and I think I liked it.”

Oscar hums, brows furrowed. “I’m about to ask a really stupid question, _mijo_ , and you can’t give me hell for it, alright?”

Alex nods, motioning for his father to continue.

“Are you— bear with me— do you think that this sudden revelation could have anything to do with Raf and I being your guardians?”  
  


Alexander is so taken aback by the question that he can’t help the way he snorts. “Are you asking if you and Dad made me gay?”

“Yes,” Oscar admits, sheepish.

Alex laughs. “No, you old dummy. You guys don’t have anything to do with it. That’s not even possible, dude. I used to have a thing with Liam too, so long as I’m airing out all my dirty laundry.”

“How’s your experience with Henry any different than your experience with Liam?” Raf asks, treating the situation with complete seriousness. 

“I don’t know,” Alex shrugs. “With Liam, it just felt like guy stuff. It feels different with Henry. Makes me all shaky and hot and gross.” He explains, shuddering.   
  


Raf smiles, humming. “Are you gonna tell him?”

“Probably not,” Alex replies, shoving everything deep down inside, ignoring the way his chest sinks. 

“Why not?” Oscar asks.

“He’s just— he destined for great things. I don’t wanna mess any of that up. It’s probably just a passing thing, too.” He says, brushing it all off. 

“What if it isn’t?” Oscar asks.

Alex picks at the threads of his pajama shorts. “I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it, I guess.”

The room goes quiet for a beat. 

“For the record, he’s a very sweet boy,” Raf tells him. “I think you two would make a good match, Alex.”

Alex smiles, face burning up. “Thanks.”

“Why don’t you take the day off tomorrow, son?” Oscar offers. “You obviously lost sleep over this, and we don’t need you sleepin’ in a desk when you could be doin’ that in your bed. We’ll let Henry know in the morning when he swings by.”

“Sounds good to me,” Alex replies, standing up and heading towards the staircase. “‘Night, guys, love you.”  
  


There’s a resounding chorus of ‘ _love you too_ ’s as he makes his way back upstairs and into bed, finally laying down to rest for the night.

Raf and Oscar tell him that Henry never came by when he heads downstairs the next morning.

Alex doesn’t feel too good about that.


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo I actually uploaded this week let’s get into ittt

Well, it seems that Henry is officially ghosting Alex. At first, Alex thought he might be having something going on at home, and sent him a few texts to check in on him. No response. Around noon, he began getting antsy, and had realized that this could definitely be about the kiss. He goes to send a few more texts— an attempt at damage control— and sees that his previous texts were read at 10:45 AM. The knot in his stomach doubles in both size and weight, and he slouches downstairs to drape himself across the couch and mope.   
  


“Ever figure out where Henry was this morning?” Raf asks him, taking a sip from a coffee mug before setting it back down on an end table. He looks a bit odd at the moment; his dress shirt and tie paired with pajama pants and slippers. He must have had a meeting earlier in the day.

“No,” Alex sighs, plopping down on the couch next to him. “He read my messages, and never responded to them. So, I don’t know what his damn deal is.” He huffs.

“ _Hey_ , watch your fuckin’ language,” Raf scolds, and Alex has to bite back a frustrated laugh; Rafael does his fair share of speaking without thinking. “Talk to me about it?”

In all honesty, Alexander would rather claw his eyes out than talk about his emotions with his stepdad. “Do I _have_ to?” He asks, sighing when Raf gives him that look. 

“Shaan told me and Pops that we need to work with you when it comes to communicating your emotions,” Raf reminds him.

“Shaan can suck my—“

“Finish that sentence, and I’ll go full step-parent on your ass.”

Alex presses his lips together, biting down on the insides of them. “What am I supposed to talk about?” He asks, already feeling like he’s wearing a bit thin. 

“Just whatever comes to mind about the situation,” Raf encourages. He sets a hand on Alex’s shoulder, and Alex nearly gives out beneath the weight of it; he supposes that’s what he gets for falling asleep in his binder last night. “I’ll listen to anything you need to say, _osito_.”

Alexander sighs a long, tired sigh. This is probably the last thing he wants to do right now, but he hasn’t really been given an out when it comes to this whole ordeal. “The kiss must have bothered him, I guess? I don’t _know_ , man.” He groans, shoving his hands in his lap. 

Raf hums. “And what made you come to this conclusion?”

“Because it’s the only thing that happened between us from yesterday afternoon to now,” He responds, gears in his mind already turning. “And I’ve been over-analyzing every interaction that we had yesterday, and think of anything upsetting or offensive or insensitive that I’ve said.”  
  


“Why do you think the kiss bothered him?”

“I don’t know; things between us just felt awkward afterwards,” He rambles on, picking at the skin of his cuticles. “I mean, I know how I feel about it, but I don’t know how he does. I think I might have scared him off, Raf.”

Rafael lets out an inappropriate noise, something akin to a laugh mixed with a sympathetic intone. “I’m sorry, kid. I know I’d be panicking if I were in your shoes. The only advice that I can give you, as of right now, is to be patient. Wait on him to respond for just a little while longer. If nothing comes of it, talk to him at school tomorrow. You two are opposite leads in a play— he can’t ignore you forever.”

“I just don’t want things between us to be awkward,” Alex whines, squishing his face together from either side. “Next week is midterms, then we get out for winter break. If I don’t fix this by Friday, then things are gonna get so awkward, and the show’s gonna suck, and I’m not gonna be able to walk at graduation—“ 

“Woah, woah,” Raf says, replacing Alex’s hands with his own, gently holding his face. “You’re blowing this _way_ out of proportion, son. First, things are bound to get awkward. You’re both seventeen, emotional, and have way too much on your shoulders. There’re gonna be a couple bumps and hiccups. That’s just how life is, right?”

Alex takes a few deep breaths, nodding. “Right, right.”

Raf clears his throat, and continues. “Also, I thought you hated this play,” He starts, face set in an unreadable expression. “Don’t tell me you’ve actually started to enjoy it all, now.”

Alexander glares at him, face going red.

“Could it be the fact that you like it because it gives you more time with Henry?”

“Shut up, man,” Alex snaps. “Quit pickin’ on me.”

“If I were really picking on you, I would make fun of your accent, country boy.” Raf tells him. “The show’s not gonna suck; you both seem to really care about it. I doubt that you guys will let whatever this is get in the way of performing— and your grades.”

  
Alex feels like he might explode. “I just don’t know, Rafa. This whole thing is really bothering me.”

“I know, Alex,” Raf assures him, messing with his hair. “Believe me, I really do. You just have to give shit like this time, as stupid as that sounds, and stressful as it feels. Hell, if I hadn’t waited up on your dad, I know for a _fact_ that we wouldn’t be sitting here today.”

Alex laughs in response. “He can’t help it, he’s a dry texter.” 

“Dry as _hell_ ,” Raf groans, and Alex laughs again. “Do you know how much sleep I lost over your old man? Too damn much, that’s for sure.” He scoffs, the look on his face oddly fond. 

“I still can’t believe you married my dad,” He finds himself admitting. “Kinda sketch, not gonna lie.”

Raf chuckles. “I can’t believe it either, some days. I love him, but he makes me wonder, sometimes.”

After a few more minutes of polite conversation, Alex finds himself craving another distraction. “I think I’m gonna go back up to my room for a little bit,” He says, standing up and stretching. “Thanks for talkin’ to me.”

“Of course,” Raf replies, stopping him right before he heads up to the staircase. “Can I tell you one more thing?”

Alex spins on his heel. “Sure, shoot.”

“Do _not_ ,” Raf warns. “Tear yourself up over this little boy. Don’t do it. If he can’t see you for the handsome, lovely, intelligent, charming young man that you are, then that’s his problem. He’s not worth chasing, and he’s not worth changing yourself over. Am I understood?”

He’s not sure why, but Alex feels like he might cry. 

“Yeah, Dad, I gotcha,” He confirms, a hesitant hand itching up the hand rail. “Thanks for reminding me.”

Raf gives him an understanding, loving smile, his face softening. “No problem, _amado_.”

And with that, Alex retreats to his bedroom; he’s still anxious about what’s to come, but he’s got a bit more footing than he did earlier this morning.

Alex has been staring at his phone for so long that his eyes are burning, and Henry still hasn’t called. It haunts him, waiting for something— anything— to happen. Checking his phone, throwing it back onto the bed and screaming with every email and app notification. He knows for certain that Henry regrets the kiss, but he should at least be upfront about it, instead of leaving Alex high and dry like this. 

Morning fades to afternoon, and afternoon fades to evening. He’s called down for dinner, and slips his phone into his pocket as he makes his way down. He picks at his meal in silence, and tries his best to ignore the strange looks from his dads; an impossible feat. 

“Still hasn’t responded?” Oscar asks, taking a stab at his portion of mixed vegetables.

“How do you know?” Alex mumbles, head propped up on his hand. “And nope. Haven’t heard anything back at all.”

“I called him when he was on break today—“ Raf explains, holding his hand out when he sees Alex pull his phone from his pocket. “Give it here; you’re gonna make yourself sick over this scrawny little fucker—“

“You don’t have to be rude—“

“When he’s got you like _this_ , I have every right to be,” Raf bites, closing and opening his fist. “Gimme.”

Alex groans, forking his phone over. He jumps with every chime of his notifications, and it annoys Rafael so much that he turns it on silent and sets it on the coffee table. They all engage in polite conversation, and he tries to turn his mind off, just to get through this meal. He finds it embarrassing that he’s been reduced to this— the stereotypical teen in every coming-of-age movie, desperately pining for a moment of spare time from someone who won’t even look in his direction. Is he being dramatic? Absolutely; he just can’t help himself.

His phone starts buzzing, and Oscar picks it up, checks the caller ID, and immediately puts it back down, face suddenly pale.

Alex immediately closes in on him. “Who is it?”

Oscar closes his eyes. 

He directs all his attention to Rafael. “Give me my phone.”

“No.”

“Dad, I’m not fucking around,” Alex says, tone firm and final. “Give me my phone.”

“He’s just gonna hurt you—“

“Not if I yell at him before he says jack shit to me—“

“That’s not an appropriate way to handle your feelings, _mijo_.” Oscar tells him, as even and gentle as possible.

Ignoring both of his fathers, Alex snatches his phone off the coffee table, answering it. 

“You better have a _damn good_ reason to be callin’ me, Fox.” He answers the phone, giving a sheepish look in response to the agitated ones he’s receiving from his dads. 

“Just give me a minute to explain myself—“

“What makes you think you even deserve a minute of my time?” He spits; Oscar looks horrified. Rafa looks proud.

“You’re right,” Henry says over the line, strained and tired. Raf waves Alex off, sending him upstairs. “I suppose I really don’t.”

“We’re done here, then?” Alex replies, shutting his bedroom door and locking it behind him. “I can go back to enjoying my evening, and you can go back to fucking right off?”

Henry chuckles bitterly. “You really don’t make anything easy, do you?”

“What the fuck do you mean by that?” He asks, and Henry’s sigh is loud and clear. 

“You’re always looking for a bloody fight—“

“Oh, _no_ ,” Alex stops him. “This isn’t looking for a fight, sweetheart. This is you ghosting me, and then calling me like you didn’t fucking do anything wrong. I wasn’t looking for a fight; the fight came up to me and spit in my fucking face.”

“Look, can we just talk like civil human beings?” Henry asks him. “If not, I’m fine with ending this conversation, and never talking to you again. I’m fine with taking the zero on our final. It’s up to you, mate.”  
  


Alex goes silent. _Fuck_ Henry. Fuck Henry and his posh, stupid accent that still sounds pretty when he’s mad. Fuck and damn it all to hell.

“Right,” Henry sighs. God, he sounds so _nervous_ , like the personification of how Alex’s heart feels, rattling around nonstop in his chest. “What I’m about to tell you is absolutely preposterous and quite burdensome, and you can feel free to forget about it immediately after I tell you.”  
  


Alexander hums in acknowledgement, encouraging him to continue.   
  


Damn, does Henry let it all out. In a strange little twist of fate, Henry actually enjoyed the kiss; quite a bit too, from Alex’s understanding. And Henry, being his perfectly melodramatic self, spent the entire day having a crisis about his feelings and what they meant. Texting Pez. Ranting and raving to Bea. Avoiding Philip like the fucking plague. Reading Alexander’s text but being so overcome with anxiety that he couldn’t bring himself to respond to any of them. Alex doesn’t know if he finds it endearing, or if his mind’s still spinning from how much dread Henry’s own emotions filled him with.

“So yeah,” Henry replies, still nervous. “That’s that.”

“I—“ Alex stutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You could’ve just _told_ me, you know.”

“I know.”

“I would’ve understood, H.”

“I wasn’t sure how you would’ve handled it,” Henry starts, but Alex cuts him off.

“I liked it _too_ , you obtuse little shithead.” Alex blurts, his whole body blazing hot.

“You,” Henry says, tone filled with disbelief. “You did?”

Alex can’t bite back his groan. “ _Yes_ , Henry. I liked it so much that I stayed up until three in the morning and came out to my dads. I thought you were ignoring me because it made you uncomfortable.”

The line goes silent, and Henry lets out a very exasperated, very tired laugh. 

“What?”

“It seems that we both had anxiety over nothing.” Henry points out, and the knot in Alex’s chest loosens up.

“Yeah,” He breathes. “I guess you’re right about that one.”

“So,” Henry starts, breaking up yet another pause. “Where does this leave us?”

He hums in response. “That’s a good question.”

Henry snorts. “How would you like things between the two of us to be?”

Alex smiles. “I wouldn’t mind getting a little bit closer to you; I wanna take things slow, you know? Not slow-motion; I just wanna get to know you a little before we get serious.”

“I like the sound of that,” Henry replies, and Alex can hear the smile there. “Would you be opposed to meeting up this Friday night?”

He can practically hear Rafael screaming at him, and immediately shoves the thought away. “Depends,” He states, playing coy. “Where do you have intentions on taking me?”

“The Rink,” Henry decides after a second or two. “I feel like that would be a safe option for the two of us.”

Alex chuckles. “I’ve never been roller skating before; I’m gonna spend the whole night tripping over myself.”

Henry laughs. “Don’t worry, it’s lots of fun. I’ll make sure you won’t fall too much.” He assures Alex.”  
  


“Promise?” He asks.

“Promise,” Henry confirms.

Alex can’t help the wide smile that spreads across his face. “Alright. It’s a date, then.”

“Lovely,” Henry breathes, and Alex chuckles.

“I, uhm, I hate to leave you hanging, but my dads are waiting downstairs for me,” He tells him. “Snuck away from dinner to make this call.”

“Christ Alex, I’m not that important.” Henry laughs.

“Well, I was angry and wanted to talk some sense into you, so it was pretty important to me.” He chuckles.

“I see,” Henry muses, and God, he sounds so much calmer than he did when their call first started. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your meal. I’ll see you tomorrow morning?” He says, although it sounds more like a question.

“Yeah,” He responds. “See you tomorrow morning.”

“Wonderful,” Henry says. It’s obvious that they’re both hesitating, neither one of them wanting to hang up quite yet. “Goodnight, Alexander.”

Alex’s smile doubles in size. “Goodnight, Henry.”

He waits a few seconds, before ultimately hanging up, knowing that neither one of them were going to cave anytime soon.

Raf gives him the works when he heads back downstairs, asking him how he started with a fight and ended with plans for a date, and he doesn’t even mind. He’s just glad that he’s put that mess with Henry behind his back, and that they’re moving past it together. 

Just before bed, Rafael seems to have finally calmed down, ruffling Alex’s hair and kissing the top of his head. 

“I really am happy for you, you know,” He tells Alex.

“We both are,” Oscar pipes up. “Henry’s a sweet kid, and we know he means well.”

“Let me know if he gives you any trouble,” Raf says, and Alex groans.

“You’re so _overprotective_ ,” He complains, and he receives a shoulder squeeze in response.

“I’ll go to war for you, son,” Raf tells him, completely serious. “Pops and I— we love you to death.”

Alex sighs, giving both of his fathers their own hugs goodnight. He’s not sure when he started expressing so much physical affection, but he knows it makes them happy.

“Love y’all too.”

They separate, and Rafael heads off to bed, Oscar staying behind to peck Alex’s cheek. 

“Don’t stay up too late talking to that boy, now.”

Alex laughs. “I won’t. ‘Night, Dad.”

“Goodnight, _mijo_.”

That night, Alex makes a short list in his head before falling asleep:

1\. He and Henry are equal in emotional ineptitude.

2\. His dads are, quite possibly, the best parents that anyone could ever have.

3\. Henry wasn’t actually ghosting him.

4\. He has a date with Henry on Friday night, and he is just as nervous as he is hopeful.


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rehearsal, a date, a broken bone, and a much-needed phone call

Henry swings by his house the next day to pick him up, and Alex isn't sure why, but the gesture shocks him. The morning is another fast-paced scramble; he goes from administering his T-shot, to trying to find a pair of matching socks, to brushing his teeth. He feels like an absolute mess as he runs out the front door, shouting a quick ‘goodbye’ to Oscar and Raf before he lets it shut behind him.   
  


After taking a few moments to grasp his bearings, he zones in on Henry. Alex cannot get over how put-together he always looks; who the hell wears a cardigan and leather loafers to public school, _especially_ when there’s nothing special going on? It’s honestly a bit difficult for him to wrap his head around.

God, his smile makes Alex want to smash something; he doesn’t understand how one person can be so _pretty_ , he just _doesn’t_. Part of him is already wanting to back out of whatever it is they’ve got going on— he doesn’t know how to maintain a relationship, whatsoever. He’s worried that he won’t be what Henry needs or wants, that Henry will grow tired of him, that he’ll realize that Alex is too much, that he’ll want to be with a real—

No— he will _not_ allow himself to stoop to that level over some hypothetical scenario he’s conjured up. He doesn’t need to invalidate himself, and he’s fairly certain that Henry never would. He just needs to keep his walls up for a while, just long enough to see what things are going to be like between them. He takes a deep breath, lets it go, and makes his way down the driveway, opening the passenger side door to Henry’s car and sliding inside, pulling it shut behind himself. 

“Good morning,” Henry greets him, tone warm and amiable.   
  


“Morning,” He replies, facing forward as he tries to burn a hole through the windshield with his eyes. He hates this; he hates not knowing what to do with himself. Hates, hates hates it. 

“I trust that you slept a wee bit better last night?” Henry continues, trying to start a conversation as he pulls out of the driveway.

“I did,” Alex tells him, his mouth feeling unbearably dry. “What about you?” He returns, inwardly cringing. He’s sure he’s messing up somehow— he can’t see it yet— but he knows that he’ll be screaming into his pillow when he replays this moment in his head throughout the day.

He can see Henry suppressing a laugh in the rear view mirror, and instantly shifts his attention to his window, face heating up. He doesn’t quite understand what he’s said to earn that reaction from him. The skin on the back of his neck is prickling; he’s having quite a bit of trouble with all of this. 

“I slept just fine, thank you,” Henry breathes, placing a hand on Alexander’s thigh— a gesture that’s meant to be comforting, but really only makes Alex feel like someone’s lit him on fire. “You’re so tense.” Henry comments, and that certainly doesn’t help with his current affliction.   
  


“Am not,” Alex rebuts, sinking down into his seat.

Henry chuckles. “Are too— I’ve never seen you like this before. What’s got you so uptight, hmm?”

_You_ , Alex wants to say. _This whole thing we’ve got going on has me antsy, but you’re the catalyst._

“I’m just tired, I guess,” He responds, and the lie’s so obvious that he wishes he hadn’t said it in the first place.

“You don’t wake up until I pull into your driveway.” Henry points out, a bit skeptical. 

“Doesn’t mean I’m not tired,” He justifies. “I’m always tired.” 

Hesitantly, he places his hand over the one Henry has on his thigh. 

“I like hanging out with you, though, so I guess it’s worth bein’ more tired than usual.”

Henry gives his leg a gentle squeeze. “I’m flattered, really.”

“As you should be,” Alex chuckles, feeling himself start to loosen up a bit.

He hears a content sigh leave Henry’s lips, and allows himself to finally breathe. He can do this. He spent two months in Arizona doing nothing but mind numbing arts-and-crafts projects and talking about _sobriety_ and his _fucking feelings;_ if he could get through that, then he can get through anything. 

“Did you go over your lines last night?” Henry asks.

Alexander groans, and Henry laughs. 

They fall into a cycle over the next few days, and Alex remembers how to act like a normal person in that time. He’s still testing the waters with everything, trying to keep himself from being too vulnerable, trying to keep himself from slipping up and letting his walls down, from doing and saying things that he knows he’ll regret. Externally, Henry seems to understand this. He’s always there, linking their little fingers together under their desks in English, holding onto the back of his backpack to navigate through the hallways, resting his head on his shoulder when he’s sure nobody’s looking. It’s an oddly familiar, comforting presence; he tries his best to give as much as he gets.

Their rehearsals have been going a lot smoother; they finally got around to going over the death scenes today. Pez had told Henry time and time again that he should take creative liberties wherever he felt they were needed, and God, did Henry deliver. 

“Come go, good Jules,” A kid from Alex’s econ class had read, swishing their fringe bang out of their eyes to peer down at their script. “I dare no longer stay.”

Alex had taken a peak from one eye at Henry, still laying where he’d ‘collapsed’ on the ground, playing dead. He watched as Henry made his way forward, an uncertain, timid look in his eyes. He had turned his head over his shoulder, calling back to Friar Lawrence. 

“Go get thee hence, for I will not awa—“ He’d said, before turning his head back around, eyes doubling in size and letting out a bloodcurdling shriek as he sunk to the ground in front of Alex’s body, grasping at his shirt, feeling for a heartbeat, genuinely crying and sobbing; it was _good_ , better than any other high school performance Alex had seen before.

He’s certain that Henry was made for this role.

It seemed that Henry had noticed his flinch earlier, because he paused his sobbing and lamentation, and leaned forward, lips next to Alex’s ear. 

“Did I scare you?” He had asked, genuine concern in his voice. 

“Maybe a little,” Alex allowed, chuckling in response. “I wasn’t expecting you to scream like that.”

“I’m so sorry,” Henry apologized, voice filled with guilt. “I should have warned you beforehand. Do you need a break?”

“No, it’s fine,” Alex has assured him. “Keep going.”

And just like that, Henry was weeping and letting out absolutely agonized noises, continuing his monologue whilst keeping contact between the two of them; brushing curls off of Alexander’s forehead, frantically grasping at the sides of his face, a quick kiss from a pair of chapped lips, and the wetness from tears left in its wake. 

“Lead boy, which way?” A girl from Nora’s AP statistics class asked, reading for the first watchman. 

“Yea, noise?” Henry had replied, sounding soft and inconsolable. “Then I’ll be brief.” He grabbed the prop dagger that Alex had cast to side after he’d thrown himself to the floor. Alex had opened his eyes again, then, and what he saw did something strange to his chest. The way Henry held the prop knife with a trembling hand, fingers of the opposite hand trailing across the blade, his bottom lip quivering dangerously— it was like he had become Jules; he had never seen anything like it before. 

“O happy dagger,” Henry wept, stray tears streaming down his face. “This,” He breathed, turning the prop around in his hand, angling the plastic blade just over where his heart lies. “Is thy sheath;” He slammed it into his chest with shaking hands, and the blade retracted into the hilt of the knife as he made a strangled noise of pain— of mourning and regret— as if he had actually just mortally wounded himself. He ‘pulls’ the prop knife out, and lets it clatter onto the stage, and in a hoarse, anguished whisper, said, “There rust, and let me die.” With that, he collapsed himself over Alex’s body, head meeting the middle of his chest, and went silent and still.

“Oh,” Pez breathed, sounding excited and a bit near tears himself. “My _God_.”

Henry hoisted himself back up with a sigh, fixing his hair. “I hated that.”

Pez gave him a look of complete shock. “What do you _mean?_ You turned my revised version of a Shakespearean work into a masterpiece! What do you mean you _hated_ it?”

“I’m not sure,” Henry admitted, wringing his hands in fretful fashion. “I just think that I have the potential to do better than that.”

“We’ve been practicing for less than a month, and you’re already off script,” Amy had acknowledged, inserting herself into the conversation. “Your range is wonderful, and your ability to memorize lines as quick as you do is uncanny. You’re doing just fine, Henry.”

With that, class had ended, the dismissal bell ringing throughout the school, and everyone had scrambled to grab their things and exit the black box. 

“All things considered,” Alex started, grunting as Henry hoisted him up. “I thought that was real good, H.” 

“Oh, you’re just saying that,” Henry had replied, waving his hand dismissively.

Alex’s jaw went slack in that moment. “I most certainly am _not_ just saying that. I don’t think you realize just how talented you are.”  
  


“I dunno,” Henry had shrugged, pulling his cardigan tighter around himself as he made his way down the steps. “I just want Philip and Dad to be proud of me when they come to see the show. Dad’s all over the place during the school year, and Philip— I just hate letting him down, you know? I mean, he doesn’t have to stay at home and take care of me, but he does it anyway, because he cares about me and wants me to succeed. I want everything to be perfect for both of them.”

Alex felt his insides twist and contort; that is simply too much pressure to put on one person, and it was ridiculous to see Henry in such a state of mind over a high school performance. He’d reached for Henry’s hand then, his thumb brushing over the knuckles of each individual finger. It was a simple gesture, one he knew he wouldn’t regret or overthink; reassuring. 

“Well, I promise you, it’s gonna be amazing.” He’d sworn. “Between You, Pez, and Nora, it’s gonna be a great show.”

“And what about you?” Henry replied, eyebrow quirked as a small smile crept into his cheeks.

“I’ll be there, that’s for sure.” He replied, and Henry let out a contagious huffy sort of laugh.

“You’re getting better,” Henry assured him, grabbing his bag off the chair he’d sat it on at the beginning of class. “I can tell that you’ve been going over your lines.”

“Well, you’ve been helping—“

“I mean, _sure_ , with memorizing lines, but you’ve been putting more emotion into it. More feeling.” Henry told him, disentangling their hands for a moment to pull on his bag. “I don’t know— it just makes me happy to see that you care about it, because I care about it quite a lot, and—“ He paused, then, scrubbing over his face with his hand. “You know?”

God, Alex doesn’t know if he wants to kick him or kiss him. “Yeah,” He replied, nodding quickly. “I getcha. I, uhm, I’m glad that this whole thing’s brought us together.”

The smile on Henry’s face briefly doubled in size, before vanishing at the bell’s next ring. “Gotta go, remember that I’m picking you up at 7:30 tonight.” He’d reminded Alex, clapping him on the shoulder before bounding out of the theatre.

Alex remembers thinking two different things:

1\. Henry is a pretty, intelligent, talented boy who deserves the world and so much more.

2\. His guard is slipping, and he needs to fix that.

Alexander Claremont-Diaz does not think he has ever been so nervous in his entire life. He’s showered, shaved the peach fuzz off his face, brushed his teeth, and has paced around the house so much that Oscar finally told him that he needed to sit down. 

“I’ve never seen you act this way with anyone before,” His father acknowledges, passing Alex a twenty to cram into the pocket of his nicer jacket. “Not with any of your little girlfriends, not with Liam— Henry’s got you all messed up.”

_“¡Ay! ¡Deja de molestarlo, cabrón!”_ Raf exclaims, gently swatting the side of Oscar’s head. Alex has to hand it to him— anyone who tells Oscar to stop bothering people and calls him an asshole in the same breath has to have some pretty big balls. He turns to Alex then, face immediately softening. “You look very handsome tonight, I can tell you like him.”

Alex groans, shoving his face into his hands. “He’s so— _ugh_. I can’t.”

Raf chuckles. “So _what?_ ”

“So _cute!_ ” Alex admits, red-faced and helpless as he sprawls out across the couch, nearly suffocating himself with one of the throw pillows nearby. “And he’s smart, and he’s nice, and quiet, and—“  
  


“Alright, alright! Save it for the date, _vato_.” Oscar teases, rolling his eyes when Alex kicks him in the thigh. “He sounds like a real catch— when do we meet his parents?”

“Probably not for a while,” He finds himself admitting. “I don’t know what his dad does, but he’s always out of state for work. His mom’s a professor at UC Davis, so you can imagine how often she’s at home.” He explains.

Oscar laughs, but Rafael’s face is more concerned than anything else. “So, he’s just this seventeen year-old kid, practically living at home by himself?”

“Nah, he’s got older siblings and stuff. Haven’t met ‘em yet, but his sister seems pretty cool. He straight up told me that his brother’s a bigot though, so.” Alex trails off, blowing a raspberry at the end of his sentence.

“So it really might be a while before we meet anyone?” Oscar asks, double-checking. 

“Yeah, it’ll be a minute,” Alex confirms. “Might not get to meet ‘em ‘til we graduate, honestly.”

Raf hums, and all too quickly, the glare of bright headlights is shining through their living room window. Alex nearly works himself back into a panic over that alone. He stands up, wiping his clammy hands on his jeans, patting down the back of his head and smoothing his curls down.

“Don’t be so nervous, _mijo_. Loosen up a little.” Oscar teases, and Raf rolls his eyes.

“Have fun, and be good,” Rafael warns. “Be safe; call us if anything happens, okay?”

“I will— love y’all.” He replies, pressing a peck to each of their cheeks before leaving the house, shutting the front door behind himself.

He meets Henry halfway up the driveway, and _God_ , he feels every bit like a ditzy teenager in a new relationship. Henry looks good; wearing an unbuttoned Burberry dress shirt over a turtleneck to go roller skating, a subtle display of wealth that’s most likely unintentional. It’s equal parts endearing and infuriating; Alex is glad that he made the right decision in wearing a polo and his bomber jacket. He can’t imagine the embarrassment he’d currently be feeling if he’d worn his ratty old comfort hoodie. 

“Hey,” He starts, smiling as best he can, anxiety gnawing away at him. “You look good.”  
  


Henry smiles back, a ray of sunshine in the dusk surrounding them. “So do you. Are you excited to get out for the first time since coming to Sacramento?” He asks, leading Alex back to the car and opening his door for him; he hadn’t known what to expect, but he certainly hadn’t considered chivalry. 

“I dunno,” He admits. “I’m pretty nervous, if I’m being honest.”

Henry hums in response, his smile not fading at the notion of nerves. “You’ll have fun,” He assures Alex. “I promise.”

He shuts the door, and Alex hates to admit it, but the knots in his stomach and chest have loosened at his words. 

It turns out that roller skating is a lot more difficult than one would think. Alexander cannot count the amount of times that he’s fallen in the past hour. His knees are killing him, and he can’t go anywhere without Henry’s arm wrapped around his midsection, but it’s fun. It’s the most fun he’s had in ages. Henry can be playful, spinning him around and holding him tight to make him laugh. He can also be a little shithead, letting go of Alex when he isn’t looking and letting him figure it out after a beat or two. He’s helped him up every single time he’s fallen, always making sure that he’s alright. 

Alex can’t deny that he’s starting to get a little tired; Henry’s got him sitting on the carpeted steps by the rink, taking a brief rest to see if he’s finished for the evening or not. He’s been watching Henry skate, and has determined that he is, in fact, a man of many hats who has mastered everything that’s been placed in his path. He does everything with such grace; Alex has never seen anything quite like it before. 

Henry finishes another lap, stopping right in front of Alex. “How are we feeling?” He asks, voice soft and concerned. 

Alex gives him a weary smile. “I dunno— ache’s startin’ to set in.”

Henry chuckles. “Can’t really blame you, you’ve taken quite a few nasty dives tonight.”

He snorts in response, shaking his head. “Help me up?”

“Of course.”

Henry hoists Alex up, and for a good second, he’s firm on his feet, glad that he’s managed to stand properly. The next second, he’s tripping over himself, and he’s falling to the floor, Henry’s fingers digging into his skin and grasping at his shirt. He falls with his left leg beneath him; he feels his ankle pop, and hears a crunching sound that manages to make him feel sick to his stomach almost immediately. 

He looks up at Henry, who’s already trying to pull him back up, looking quite mortified.

“Stay calm,” Henry says, murmuring the words into his ear. “I’ll take a look at it when we get you sat down.”

“I don’t—“ Alex stammers, heart racing for some odd reason.  
  


“You and I both know that didn’t sound good,” Henry tells him, calmly. “I have to take a look at it.”

Alex’s brain is working at a million miles a minute as Henry sits him down at a nearby table, unlacing the horrid, tight, old skate on his left foot, letting it fall from his hand and onto the floor. Henry rolls down his sock, flinches, and cringes.

“That bad, huh?” He asks, laughing, trying to keep himself from panicking. 

“I’m afraid so, lovely.” Henry replies, fretful expression settling onto his features before he wipes it off completely; Alex can’t help but think that he’d be an excellent gambler in his current half-delirious state. “Not to worry, we’ll take you to the closest Urgent Care, and they’ll fix you right up.”

“I really don’t think that’s necessary, Hen.” Alex tells him. “It’s probably just a bad sprain.”  
  


“But what if it’s _not?_ ” Henry counters. He looks down at Alex’s ankle again, and grimaces. “It’s going purple, we’ve got to get that looked at.”

Alex is jittery, and his anxiety’s through the roof, so he decides that putting up a fight isn’t worth it right now. “Alright, I’ll go, if that’ll make you feel better.”

Henry’s laugh is some sort of terrified titter as helps Alex up. “Can you stand on your own?”

“Lemme check— _fuck._ ” Alex swears, lifting his foot up as soon as he puts it down. “I think I would rather crawl outta here than walk.”

“Do you need me to carry you?” Henry asks, and Alex shakes his head furiously. He’s already embarrassed himself enough, he doesn’t need to make it worse. 

“I can handle it.”

“Just lean on me, and we’ll go slow, alright?”

“Mhm.”

The hobble out of the roller rink is long and tortuous, and Alex feels like he might scream as soon as they get out the front doors. Without saying anything, Henry scrambles to his car and opens the door, before coming back and wrapping an arm around Alexander’s waist. 

“I’m gonna pick you up.” He declares, and Alex feels his face heat up. 

“That’s not necessary—“

“Alex, you are in agony,” Henry reminds him. “And we don’t need any more injuries. It’s up to you, whether or not you walk, but I really wish you’d let me carry you.”

He surveys the trail in front of him. He would have to step off the sidewalk, into the parking lot, over several unfortunate cracks and small rocks, and hoist himself into the car. He groans, winding his arms around Henry’s neck.

“If you drop me, this is the last damn date you’re takin’ me on, Fox.”

“Oh hush,” Henry says sweetly, hooking an arm under Alex’s legs and lifting him up off the ground. “I’m honestly surprised with how calm you are,” He admits, holding Alex close and tight. “I expected you to be all worked up into a proper panic by now.”

“What good’s panicking gonna do me?” Alex says through grit teeth. The pain is finally kicking in; he’s sprained his ankle before, but never this bad. “Won’t make it hurt any less.”

Henry chuckles, helping Alex down into the car.

“What’s so funny?” He grunts, shutting his eyes, fumbling in his pocket for his phone to call his dads.

“So level-headed,” Henry laughs. “So illogically logical, in the most stressful of situations.”

“Someone’s gotta be,” He breathes in response. “You look ‘bout green right now.”  
  


“That’s because your ankle is the size of a baseball, darling.” Henry explains, shutting the door before circling around to his side of the car.

The visual makes Alex’s stomach turn as he dials Oscar’s cell number.

It turns out that Henry was right; his ankle is very much broken. Rafael is fretting over him, pushing his fingers through his hair and keeping him distracting him as the doctor examines his ankle. Oscar is grilling Henry on what happened every five minutes, unable to believe that his son’s gonna be in a boot for the next six weeks after tripping over himself. It’s all so damn embarrassing that it makes Alex want to cry.

Despite having the boot and a proper ice pack, Oscar insists on carrying him out. He puts up one hell of a fight, only simmering down when his peak of his pain and fatigue hits him like a fucking freight train. He forces his father to put him down though, wanting to say goodbye to Henry properly. They stand a few feet away from the car, and Oscar and Raf slip inside it and turn on the radio to give them some privacy.

“So...” Henry trails off, shoe scuffing against the asphalt. “That could have gone better.”

“I had fun,” Alex says, earnest, grabbing one of Henry’s hands in his. “That’s actually the first time I’ve really gone anywhere in a long time. You really showed me a good time goodnight, Henry.”

Henry’s smile is somber; it sobers Alex right up. “I would’ve preferred if you hadn’t gotten hurt, though.”

“Hey, these things just happen sometimes, don’t worry about it,” Alex shrugs it off. “Could’ve been worse.”

“How?”

“Could’ve pulled you down with me, then we’d both have boots on.”

Henry snorts. “I suppose you’re right about that.” He sighs, and continues. “I had fun tonight, too. You make wonderful company.”

“Even when I’m falling flat on my ass?”

Henry laughs— much more jubilant this time. “Yes, even when you’re falling flat on your arse.”

They stand there for a minute, chuckling and avoiding awkward looks. 

Henry steals a peck on the cheek, and makes a run for his car.

Alex feels himself go beet red, and shouts after him, “See you at school on Monday!”

“ _Have a good night!_ ” Henry shouts from the other end of the lot, and Alex can’t help but laugh.

That doesn’t stop the walls from going back up, for the feeling of dread from swelling in his chest.

He doesn’t talk to Henry at all on Saturday, or for most of the day on Sunday. Given the little row they had just before Henry asked him out, it all seems quite hypocritical, but Alex has managed to convince himself that he is no good for Henry. The seeds had already been planted there, and after the date, he feels like even more of an embarrassment than he did before. He doesn’t want whatever this is to end— but Henry deserves someone on his level, and he doesn’t think he’s that. 

His dads come to check on him in his room every hour or so. Raf brings him ice packs and keeps him company. Oscar brings him his meals and surveys his wounds; he’s awfully worried about Alex’s kneecaps, which have become two big bruises from all the falling that happened at the rink on Friday night. They both ask about Henry. They seem to catch on when Alex beats his way around their questions. 

Henry calls him on Sunday evening, and he can’t help his own weakness as he picks it up on the second ring.

“Hey,” He answers, cursing his own hesitant tone. 

“Hello,” Henry replies. It sounds like he has this undying question on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t immediately come out with it. “How’s your leg?” 

“Hurts,” He tells him. “But it’s fine. Got it propped up and iced right now.”

“Good, good,” Henry breathes, and the line falls silent. “Have you been studying for midterms?” Henry asks, another filler question, and Alexander damn near screams.

“Henry, you don’t have to make up shit to talk about,” He tells him, tone even and calm. “If you have something to tell me, then go on and say it.”

Henry clears his throat, and takes another pause before speaking up. “Forgive me if this is out of line, but ever since I, well, kissed you and caused an argument about ghosting you, you’ve been rather distant. I was wondering if I’d done something that made you comfortable.”

Alex isn't sure why, but that hits him dead in the chest. 

“Of course not,” He replies almost immediately. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Henry mumbles sheepishly. “You just— you don’t look me in the eyes, and you usually keep the most intense eye contact. You also tense up when I touch you, and so I thought, maybe—“

“Henry, sweetheart, no.” Alex says, damning himself in his mind. “That’s not it at all.”

“It’s not?” Henry asks, relief creeping into his voice.

“It’s not,” Alex confirms. “It’s ridiculous, and you’ll probably laugh at me when I tell you, but I’ll tell you if it’ll put you at ease.”

“Only if you’re comfortable with sharing,” Henry responds.

So, Alex launches into his long-winded rant about how he doesn’t know how to handle Henry’s, well everything. His intelligence, his talent, his kindness— Alex tells him all about it. He talks about how this is his first relationship— if they’re deciding to call it that— and how he’s just worried that he’ll be too much, or not enough. He talks about his fondness for Henry, and how he doesn’t want to pull him down, to pull him away from what he could accomplish at his full potential. It’s a mess of words and emotions, but it feels good to get it all off his chest.   
  


“I appreciate your honesty,” Henry starts, voice warm and honeyed. “And I’m going to say this in response to all that: you are not pulling me down, and you aren’t too much or too little for me. Alex, you’re one of the smartest, kindest, and funniest people I’ve ever met. I was worried about a lot of the same things, if I’m being honest. I just sort of, I don’t know, had to learn to let go around you, if that makes sense? I know you won’t judge me, so I feel like I can let go around you; you can do the same with me, you know. Just because we’re in a relationship doesn’t mean we suddenly aren’t friends, muppet.”

Oh. Alex hadn’t thought of it like that.

He groans, and it spirals into a laugh as he scrubs over his face. “I’m a dumbass, aren’t I?”

“No,” Henry says, gentle and reassuring. “You’re just human. Everyone has these thoughts. If we just talk about them with each other, I’m sure everything will go just fine.”

“Well, I’ll always be here if you need to talk.”

He can practically hear Henry’s smile through the phone. “The same goes for you, Alex.”

Alex’s lips quirk up. “I actually wanna talk about somethin’, since I’ve got you right here with me.”

“Of course, go ahead.” Henry replies, suddenly sucked into the moment, ready to listen and provide feedback.

“You have a nasty little habit of kissin’ me and runnin’ off,” Alex says, laughing when Henry groans into the phone.  
  


“You’re insufferable.” Henry grumbles.

“No, _you’re_ the insufferable one!” Alex rebuts. “I haven’t had a chance you get you back, because anytime you even think about it, you run in the opposite direction!”  
  


In this moment, Alexander feels like his most authentic self, like nothing or nobody can drag him down. Henry had been right yet again— friendships and relationships are perfectly capable of coexisting. He knows that his insecurities will come and go, but now— instead of pushing it all down until he’s a hot mess— he’ll come to Henry, and they’ll sort through it together.  
  


Philip has to shout for Henry to get off the phone to come practice at the piano four times before he hangs up, and Alex feels so much lighter and sure in himself. 

The walls come down, despite his mind’s pleas for them to go back up, and his stomach and chest is no longer riddled with knots. 

He’s never felt more prepared to take on the world.


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TWs: Philip, fighting, homophobia non-descriptive mention of blood

To say that midterms kicked Alexander’s ass would be a drastic understatement. It’s not that he was ill-prepared when it came to the materials— there was just so much revising and studying and three AM cramming that he felt spent by the time he actually had to take his exams. Hobbling around campus in his boot and risking being counted tardy to said exams wasn’t exactly fun, either. Overall, he feels that he did pretty well on all of them; he’d been sure to study the most for his economics exam— it’s definitely not his best subject.

Later in the afternoon, he slumps against Henry in the car, groaning against his shoulder. He feels something touch his hair, and is unsure if it’s Henry’s fingers or lips, until he feels his fingers drift down to massage at the nape of his neck.

“I just failed all of my exams,” Alex groans, not caring how dramatic he sounds.

“No you didn’t,” Henry replies, gentle and drained, his hold on Alex lose, but still comforting; protective. “Anytime we weren’t talking, you were studying. You were even running through your study guides in the car. I’m certain that you did the very best you could. Your nerves are just shot, you poor dear.”

Alex hums, fingers toying with the loose threads of Henry’s cardigan sleeve. “I don’t know— I just feel like I could have done better.”

“How were you supposed to do better than your best?” Henry asks.

“That’s a very good question,” Alex replies, weary and feeling the beginnings of a headache.

“You need something else to fret about for a bit,” Henry tells him. “Pez’s parents are going out of town for the holidays, visiting some family member he doesn’t particularly care for. He’s going to have the house all to himself. I told him I’d be there for a few days— you should come over.”

“I don’t know,” Alex sighs. “It’s been a while since I’ve done something like that.”

“Nora can come too, if that would make you feel more comfortable.”  
  


Alex takes a long moment to consider it. He hasn’t been hanging around Henry very much this week, because of the hectic nature of the week before winter holidays. Nora being there will provide a sort of safety belt; she’s chaotic, but she has her head on her shoulders. Pez doesn’t seem to be the type to put unnecessary pressure onto others regarding recreational activities, and he already knows that Henry would never do something like that. There might be one issue that he can’t quite avoid, though.

“I don’t know if my dads will let me,” He points out, sitting up and shutting his eyes, steadying himself against the headrest. “With me recovering from my dumbass decisions and all.”

“I completely understand that, especially when there won’t be any adults around.”

Alex doesn’t miss the deflated tone in Henry’s voice. “I mean, I’ll definitely check with them, but don’t get your hopes too high.”  
  


Henry pecks his cheek affectionately. Alex snorts and pushes him away.

“If I come, there better not be any drugs, or a drop of goddamn alcohol.” He warns, wishing his voice wasn’t so soft.

“There won’t be,” Henry assures him. 

“I’m serious, Fox. If I see _anything_ that would warrant an extended appointment with my shrink, I’m leaving and giving you the cold shoulder for the rest of break.”

“There _won’t_ be,” Henry repeats, empathetic and understanding. “I promise.”

Alex smiles, reaching out blindly and squeezing his arm.

“Good.”

Just as he thought, convincing his dads is taking quite a bit of work. They’re not exactly telling him no, but he can tell that they’re both extremely hesitant to give him any sort of direct answer. He knew that this was coming, but he would be lying if he said that it didn’t sting a little bit. 

“Well, who’s gonna be there?” Oscar asks, gesturing for Alex to sit down. 

“Henry, Nora, and Pez,” He replies easily.

“Who are Nora and Pez?” Oscar asks, and Alex suppresses a groan as Raf steps in for him. 

“You’ve met Nora a couple times in the parking lot— she’s that girl with the super curly hair who drives the Jeep.”

Oscar hums. “And Pez?”

Alex allows himself to step back into the conversation. “He’s the one who wrote the revised version of the play we’re doing, and he’s one of Henry’s good friends.”

“Will his parents be there?” Raf questions, and Alex makes an awkward expression.

“No,” He says, holding his hands out in defense when he sees Oscar’s face contort. “ _But,_ I already told Henry that if anything funny starts goin’ down, I’m outta there, and we’re goin’ on a break.”  
  


Raf raises his eyebrows. “ _Really_ , now?”

“Believe or not, I take my sobriety very seriously and don’t want to go down that path again.” Alex says, tone tired, as if he’s had to explain this to them a hundred times each. 

Oscar and Raf share a look that Alexander can’t quite decipher. 

“Give us a little bit of time to discuss it privately, and we’ll try to get back to you within the hour.” Oscar tells him, and he nods in response.

“Sure,” He replies, shifting his leg around on the pillow he has it propped up on; he has the boot on, but it still hurts like a bitch. “Take as long as you need.”

After dinner, they sit Alex down and tell him that he can go, but they have some conditions if he chooses to do so.

“This is going to sound really controlling and out of line, so we thought we would discuss it with you before forcing it upon you,” Raf explains, and Alex nods. 

“Go ahead,” He tells them, and Oscar picks up where Rafael left off.

“We would like to send you to Pez’s house with a breathalyzer,” He says, and although Alex can definitely see their reasoning in doing so, he finds himself raising a brow. “We know there won’t be any drugs— Henry seems like the type to freak out over someone having an ounce on them,” He chuckles, shaking his head. “But people your age do tend to drink without parental supervision. Essentially, we’ll text you at random times throughout the day, and all you’ll have to do is send back a video of you taking the breathalyzer test.” He explains.

“I know it sounds absolutely ridiculous— we both do— but we can tell that you’re serious about your sobriety. We’re just trying to keep you safe. Let us know if we’re overstepping, though. We don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.” Raf reiterates, and Alex bites back a sigh.

He’s known this has been coming for a while now. They don’t completely believe that he’ll be on his best behavior— and he can’t blame them for that, not at all. It’s nobody’s fault that things have to be this way; trust is still building between the three of them. He’s made up his mind, and he clears his throat, speaking up. 

“I think it would make everyone feel a little bit safer if I did that.” He admits.

Oscar furrows his brows. “We both thought you’d put up more of a fight.”

He shrugs. “I got tested two to four times a day when I was in Arizona, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“You sure, _osito?_ ” Raf asks.

Alex nods, trying his best to look reassuring. “Yeah, I’ll do it.”

The conversation moves on to check-in texts, and he feels strange, like a sort of weight’s just been lifted from him. It hadn’t been stress, and he knows he wasn’t afraid of what they might have had to say; he feels safe, knowing that they’re looking out for him, knowing that they want him to be protected and out of harm’s way. 

He agrees that a check-in text every couple of hours sounds reasonable, and he finds himself cozying up on the couch as his dads put on Bridgerton; it’s still trash television, but, in Alexander’s opinion, Regé-Jean Page is quite the leading man.

Two days before Christmas, he invites Henry over to the house for a gift exchange. It hadn’t been something that they devoted an entire conversation to— Alex asked if he wanted a gift, and Henry said that a gift would be lovely, and that they should meet up some time before Christmas to trade. That was the end of that— until today. He pulls Henry in from the general iciness outside, shutting the door behind him.

“Jesus, you’re about to freeze to death,” He murmurs, and Henry smiles, pressing a peck to his cheek with frigid lips. 

“‘S not as bad as London is, especially not around this time of year.” Henry replies, giving him a gentle squeeze. “Have you been sleeping better?”

Alex chuckles, pulling away to look at him. The wind’s beaten the apples of his cheek bright red, and completely mussed his usually tame hair. As cold as it is, his clothing seems to be relatively light; no gloves, a jumper, and a thin jacket. Alex doesn’t understand how people can just thrive in the cold like this; it’s equal parts amusing and infuriating. 

“As best as I can,” He sighs softly. “Leg keeps me up sometimes, but it’s nothing to terrible. How ‘bout you, hmm?”

“About the same,” Henry admits sheepishly, and he finds himself tutting. 

“You need to get some rest while we’re off.”

Henry snorts. “Good sleep? Philip will have my head if I’m in bed past eight in the morning.”

“To hell with Philip.”

Henry bites his lip, and it’s quite obvious that he’s trying not to laugh. Alex uses it as an excuse to change the conversation. 

“What day are we going to Pez’s house again?” He asks.

“Twenty-sixth,” Henry says, and then it clicks for him. “Wait, you’re coming?”

He nods, smiling. “Had to fight tooth and nail to make it happen,” He exaggerates. “But I’m coming.”

Henry’s smile nearly knocks him to the floor. “Wonderful— I think you’ll really like Pez, now that you’re finally going to get around to knowing him.”

They talk for such a long time, that Alex finds himself worrying that they’ll run out of things to talk about. He supposes that’s one of his favorite things about Henry— the fact that no conversation ever truly runs dry. Everything sounds interesting when it leaves his mouth, no matter how mundane it actually is.

“Enough beating around the bush,” Henry says nearly an hour later, disentangling himself from Alex’s hold. “Do you want yours first?” 

“Sure,” Alex replies, amiable, not missing the way the corners of Henry’s lips turn up as he hands him a gift bag. 

He accepts the bag, and before anything else, he grabs the card Henry’s placed in there, and goes to open it. He’s picking at the opening point, all sticky with a thin layer of adhesive, when Henry gently grabs his hand. 

“Present first,” He insists.

Alexander quirks a brow at this. “I was always taught to open the card first.”

“Well, that card’s very personal,” Henry admits, flushing bright red. “And I’d rather not be subjected to you reading it right in front of me.”

“If you say so,” He snorts, obliging him and reaching for the second item in the bag; a large, heavy book. He pulls it out, and holds it in both hands.

“ _Metamorphoses_ by Ovid,” He reads aloud, his heart swelling as his fingers brush over the front cover. He remembers that night he talked to his mom, how truly devastated and pained he felt, and how Henry kept him entertained with little things— mythology had been one that stuck. It’s not uncommon for them to swap links to their favorite stories; they’ve been sending an annotated copy of the Iliad back and forth as of late. Alex has always had a thing for the melancholy of it all, for the tragedy, for the morality— Henry’s in it for the love stories, as damned and macabre as they are. It’s a beautiful gift; he fully intends to read and share the stories with him. 

“It’s wonderful, Hen.” He breathes, reaching out for Henry’s hand, squeezing it.

“Open it,” Henry implores. “Just the front cover.”

He does as he’s told, skimming over the words.

_Alex,_

_You have filled my life with an abundance of color, laughter, and light. When I am with you, I feel like I can be truly human. You have left me senseless, and dumb, and warm, and I find myself wondering why none of this leaves me surprised. I am entirely new— I raise my voice, I sing in the shower, I’m messy and clumsy and make a thousand small mistakes a day— and I never could have made it to this point without you. Without your presence in my life, I feel that I would be the same boy you met that short time ago; pale, afraid, and stripped bare. You are everything that is lively and good and bright, and I cannot wait to see where we’ll go and what we’ll do._

_Thank you, for showing me that authenticity and affection don’t come with a price to pay._

_Yours,  
Henry_

_Oh._

“I—“ Alex trails off, not really knowing what to say as he looks up at Henry. He’s managed to work himself up into quite a worry; he’s got his bottom lip between his teeth, and his brows are furrowed. Alex can’t help kissing every affected area. “You amaze me,” He whispers, fond and true.

Henry smiles. “I try my best.”

“Are you ready for yours?” He asks.

Henry nods.

“Close your eyes, sweetheart.”

Henry giggles, placing his hands over his eyes. “I hate surprises.”  
  


Alex hums, grinning. “It’s a good one.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Now, Alex isn’t too well-adversed in the world of romance, but he thinks he’s hit it out of the park with this one. It’s a bit corny, but he knows that Henry will appreciate it. He’d been fretting about it for days, until he’d seen a flier that Raf had brought in when he’d went to get the mail a while back, and he knew what he had to do. 

He slips an envelope into Henry’s hand, watches as his eyes flutter open, as his smile grows while opening it, careful so as to rip things as little as possible. Henry peers inside, before pulling out the enclosed tickets. His eyes scan across one, and his smile doubles in size as he screws his eyes shut and tips his head back. 

“You’re so _corny_ , you absolute muppet!” Henry exclaims, looking rather delighted.

Alex feels his face heat up, chuckling. “I prefer the term romantic, but to each their own.”

Henry snorts. “God, I can’t deal with you right now. A live performance of _Romeo and Juliet_? I love it.” He scrubs his hands across his face, overwhelmed and absolutely tickled by his gift. 

Alex smiles. “It’s ‘bout time I step up to the plate and take you on a good date. Figured you would like this.”

Henry kisses his cheek, and he feels the wind get knocked out of his lungs. 

After Henry leaves— about an hour and a half after the exchange— Raf peaks out of the kitchen.

“Did he like it?” He asks, hopeful expression on his face.

“Went about fifteen different shades of pink and kissed me.” Alex replies, stretching out on the couch and sighing when his back clicks.

“Fuck yeah.” Raf replies, and Alex laughs, pushing his readers up on the bridge of his nose as he turns the page of his book, fingers drifting over Henry’s sweet annotations and feeling the indentations left with every word.

  
Alexander didn't expect Christmas to be any sort of big affair. He’d been saving up money for a while to get them both some nicer gifts, and he thinks that he’s done quite nicely for both of them. 

  
Things felt odd this morning, though. Nobody was shouting for him to come downstairs and eat. Instead, Oscar came inside, and sat on the edge of the bed, and politely— quietly— asked him if he was hungry and if he would like to come downstairs for dinner. This in and of itself was not out of the ordinary; Oscar often takes a moment to slow down on the holidays. Alex thinks they’re the only time his father lets himself have true peace.

It’s not until they were halfway through their French toast that Alex figured out what felt so odd; today is his first coherent Christmas in about two years. He knows that he’s celebrated the last two Christmases— there are photos of him with Ellen and June to prove that— but this was the first holiday where he wasn’t high or downright miserable in a while. He had to push away his breakfast at the thought of that one.

“Full, _bebé?_ ” Raf had asked.

_Not full,_ Alex wanted to correct him. _Nauseated. Ashamed._

He nodded, and Raf had pecked the top of his head, collecting his plate to take it to the sink.

Now, sitting in front of his small stack of gifts, he feels anxious. He almost doesn’t want to open them— he’s always hated the idea of people spending their money on him, and in this context, it feels about a billion times worse. His dads have already opened their gifts; Oscar loved his watch, and downright laughed at the alarm clock that’s supposed to shake the bed— something he wouldn’t need if he would just stop sleeping through his regular alarm. Raf thanked him for the jacket and the wallet, and Alex found himself giving his stepdad a stern-yet-hypocritical lecture on taking care of himself. 

There are five packages for him— three of them are smaller, two are pretty big— he feels too overwhelmed to open any of them. Both of his dads seem to notice this, so they start him off small. The first one is a new binder; he’s been needing one for about a year now, but he hasn’t really had the funds or courage to ask for anything that’s not a necessity. He thanks Raf, and sets it off to the side. Oscar bought him a planner, one without the dates in it, so he can finally start writing things down and get over his nasty habit of constantly forgetting things. Next, June has gifted him three candles with little crystals imbedded in them. 

“I see she’s still holding onto the whole witchy thing, then.” Oscar says.

Alex chuckles, shaking his head. “You have no idea. These are really nice, though. I’ll have to ask where she got ‘em from.”

The last two gifts, he is told, go hand in hand, and were a collaborative effort from everyone in the family. The thought makes his stomach turn, and not in a good way. With hesitant, shaking hands, he unwraps the bigger box. It’s a record player, a new one; he remembers the one he had to leave behind in Austin. He wonders how much dust it’s collecting, tries to remember which album he’d left in it. He can’t.

“We all wanted to do something special for you, _mijo_.” Oscar tells him, soft and loving. “You’ve had a rough year. You’ve deserved a nice surprise.” 

“Thank you,” He chokes out, shaking, eyes watering. “I like it a lot.”

“Open the other one,” Raf nudges, tender, handing Alex the last package. He opens it, and takes the time to read the letter first.

_Alex,_

_I know we’re still working on getting over everything that happened in September, so I hope I’m not overstepping my boundaries by doing this. Your father’s been keeping me updated on your recovery, and sugar, I am so, so proud of you. I know this has all been hard on you, and it makes me tear up to see how far you’ve come in such a short amount of time. We all know how attached you are to your record player, and we thought it was high time for a new one. Your dad & Rafael got you a pretty good one, from what Bug’s shown me. We’ll be sending all your other records up soon, but June thought it would be a nice idea to make you a custom one. June ended up picking most of the songs— I can’t say I’m familiar with most of the artists on your playlist. We hope you like it, sweetheart, and we love you to pieces. _

_Be Safe & Be Good,  
Mama_

Alexander sniffs, pulling the record out of the wrapping paper. His eyes scan the track list: Orville Peck, Helado Negro, Billy Joel— he can’t do this. Not right now. He feels Oscar’s hand on his shoulder, and stands up, tipping his head up towards the sky. 

“Can I go on a walk, please?” He asks, knowing that tears are already starting to stream down his face but too emotionally drained to give two flying fucks. “I need to be alone right now.”

“Take a coat,” Raf murmurs, his own voice croaky and unsure. “It’s cold outside.”

Alex grabs his jacket off the back of the couch, yanks it on hastily, and leaves the house without zipping it up. As soon as he gets out onto the front porch, everything hits him like a goddamn tsunami. Still, he does one, two, three trips around the block, before he eventually collapses in a chair on the front porch, red-faced, puffy-eyed, and sobbing his eyes out. He’s not even entirely sure why he’s crying; all he knows is that it only took a fucking letter from his mom to get him to this point. Confused, tired, and in a great deal of emotional pain, he sits there on the porch, and he cries, and cries, and cries, until all his tears are used up and he can’t breathe right anymore. 

After his fifteen minute recovery period, he creeps back inside, only to find nobody in the living room. It sounds like someone might be in the kitchen, but he doesn’t bother to investigate. Instead, he heads up to his room, and shuts the door behind himself. His dads have already been in here, and they’ve dropped off all of his things, it seems. His new binder lays on his bed, folded up nicely. June’s candles are scattered across the room, one on either side of his desk, and one on top of his dresser. His planner’s been set on his bedside table. On top of an empty shelf rests his record player, the record beneath it held inside one of the storage cubbies. It feels weird, knowing that his room has things in it besides homework and textbooks and clothes. It’s like his room in Austin, but a completely foreign space at the same time. 

He swaps his old binder for his new one, lights one of his candles, and lays there in silence; he’d briefly thought of putting the record on, but he’d rather not cry again. His phone buzzes, and he fishes it out of the pocket of his pajama pants. It’s Henry; he’s sent a picture of himself with his dad, the caption as simple as can be: Happy Holidays. He sends a text back echoing the sentiment, before shutting off his phone and pressing his hands over his eyes. 

Raf and Oscar corner him later that evening, and he finds himself a willing victim to their soft words and hugs. Someone says something about their next appointment with Shaan being a family affair. He doesn’t fight them on it; if they wanna listen, he won’t stop them. It’s nothing they don’t already know. He falls asleep on the couch, exhausted and careless and half-delirious as he realizes that this is the best Christmas he’s had in quite a bit. 

Staying at Pez’s house was everything that he expected it to be— a brand of chaotic fun that he welcomed with open arms. Things were tame, for the most part; the worst they got up to was spending more than they intended to on snacks because nobody listened to Alex when he said they needed to make a list. They talked, they laughed, and Alex learned that Pez shares a lot of the same plights that he does. Two nights ago, long after Henry and Nora had fallen asleep together on a couch, they sat up together, watching _Drag Race_ reruns and talking about what it means to be trans in their respective environment. Alex wanted to hug him when he said his parents still don’t get it; despite all the angst and the fighting, he recognizes his own privilege when he sees it. 

“I feel like I was born out of a war, if that makes sense,” Pez had told him, cracking his knuckles, an anxious habit. “A war between my soul, and everyone else’s minds. They can’t comprehend it; they’ve come to the conclusion that I’m ‘gay’ over the past year,” He explained, using finger quotes. “It’s an uphill battle everyday, and it always ends in a tie.”

“How long have you been out?” Alex questioned, voice husky and hoarse.

“Two years.” Pez replied, shutting his eyes.

He felt himself sigh, and prepared himself to speak. “The two year mark was rough. I was fourteen, and I was miserable. Freshly divorced parents, first year of high school, pre-T; it was ugly. I think it was around that point that everyone sort of realized, ‘oh my God, he's not joking’, and they started taking me to therapists and shit. It took my dad a while to come around, actually. He was still denying what he was— I don’t think he could even fathom the idea that his kid could be anything but straight and cis.” He’d cleared his throat, and continued. “I’m not saying they’ll magically snap to it like mine did, but from the way you talk to your parents, I can can tell that they love you, Pez. Like, a lot. It’s gonna take a while— no parent’s cool with their kid defying everything they ever had envisioned for them overnight— but they’ll come around, sweetheart. I know they will.”

Pez had laughed then, resting his head on Alexander’s shoulder. “You’re alright, Diaz.” He’d breathed, giggling again before shutting his eyes. “But so help me, break Hazza’s heart, and I’ll break your teeth.”

Alex had laughed in return, trying to quiet himself when he saw Nora stirring out of the corner of his eye.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Okonjo.”

“Are you sure?” Alex asks for the billionth time over the phone.

“Yes, lovely, I’m certain.” Henry responds over the line, still chipper and giddy.

“You want me and my parents to come over for dinner tonight?” He repeats, trying to be sure he’s understood what Henry’s told him. “You feelin’ well?”  
  


Henry laughs, nervous and angelic all at once. “I’m fine; so long as you lot are free, yes.”

“Well, I already texted them, and we’re free, I just want to make sure we’ve got all our ducks in a row.” He finds himself explaining, picking at his cuticles, just as anxious as Henry sounds. 

“Everything’s fine, this is just the last time I’ll get to see my dad before graduation,” Henry explains. “He heads back out to New York in two days; they want him on the next run of _Chicago_ as Billy Flynn.” He rambles. “In all honesty, I can’t stand the thought of being in the closet any longer. I feel like I’m lying to everyone in my family, and I want to tell him in person.”

“I understand that, but are you in a position where it’s safe for you to do so?” He questions, taking a break from pacing to sit on the edge of the bed. 

“I think so; Philip will probably have something smart to say about it, but he’d never hurt me or anything,” Henry replies, voice certain. “He’s just old-fashioned, is all.”

Alex hums, not particularly liking the sound of that.

“I’ve already told Mum and Bea,” Henry informs him. “I’m going to tell Dad, and then Pip.”

“I’m proud of you,” Alex admits, and he hears a choked little laugh on the other end of the phone. “Coming out takes a lot out of people. I’m glad you feel comfortable enough to do so.”

“Me too,” Henry sighs. He still sounds nervous, so Alex changes the subject.

“What am I supposed to wear to this thing?” He asks, and Henry’s laugh is sweeter than any song he’s heard to date.

“You’re not meeting the _queen_ ,” Henry snorts. “Any outfit will do.”

“You say that, but you wear hundred dollar shirts to school.”

“I’m serious; a sweater and jeans will look just fine,” Henry assures him. “Bring your cute face and some Tupperware; Mum tends to make enough for everyone to have leftovers.”

Alex smiles. “Sounds good. I’m lookin’ forward to seeing’ you, sweetheart.”

“Mmm, you too.”

“See you at six,” Alex says.

“See you at six,” Henry echoes.

“Bye-bye, now.”

Henry laughs again. “Goodbye, Alex.”

The call cuts, and he isn’t sure why, but the dread in Alexander’s stomach is rapidly spreading.

“Wasn’t aware that Henry lived so far out.” Oscar grunts, making the last turn down a practically empty road. “You’re tellin’ me he lives all the way out here, and drives to pick you up in the morning?”

Alex chuckles awkwardly. “Get yourself a man like mine.”

“His current man does _just enough_ , thank you.” Raf replies, pecking Oscar’s cheek.   
  


Oscar whistles when they pull into the Fox family driveway. “ _Damn_ , when you said they have money, you weren’t fuckin’ kidding, were you?”

Henry’s house, to be brief, is huge. It’s one of those typical Mediterranean homes, the type that you’d typically see a little closer to the Bay Area. Alex is sweating just thinking about stepping inside— God forbid he slips, or breaks something, or—   
  


He has to tell himself to breathe, because he’s damn near forgotten how to. He turns around, and looks to his dads; Raf’s sneaking a quick smoke in, much to Oscar’s chagrin— he’s holding onto a cake carrier full of _Carlota De Limón_ , and it feels so distinctly Californian that he might just throw up.

Hoarse screaming from the backyard immediately pulls him out of his mindset of disgust. At first, he’s unsure of what to do, but when he hears more shouting, and a very panicked, “ _Philip, stop!_ ” he knows that something bad’s going down. As fast as he can, completely disregarding the way his fathers scream after him, he makes his way to the backyard.

When he gets there, he sees two panicked adults— Henry’s parents. His father looks mortified, his mother pleading with Philip to back away from Henry. Beatrice stands a little closer, trying to find a place to insert herself between the two of them.   
  


“It’s a bloody _embarrassment_ —“ Philip raves, red in the face, before Henry cuts him off.

“It’s who I _am!_ ” He exclaims, and Alexander can hear the sob in his voice. “Philip, what have I ever done to—“

“What have you done?” Philip asks, a fat vein bulging against his temple. “What have you _done?_ You’ve betrayed us _all_ , running around with all those little degenerates, letting them pollute and poison your mind with their disgusting rhetoric! _God_ , the fact that you were _willing_ to fuck us all over and ruin our reputations—“ He cuts himself, moving in on Henry.  
  


 _“Hey!”_ Alex screams, his voice gearing against his own ears. He’s not surprised when everyone turns to look at him— he’s making a bit of a scene right now. “Get the hell away from him!”

Philip proceeds to call him something so unseemly that it ought not be repeated. It doesn’t discourage him, if anything, it eggs him on, and he finds himself stepping forward.

“I’m _not_ gonna repeat myself,” He spits, gritting his teeth. “Get away from him.”

“ _Alex_ ,” Henry says, voice shaking. “Go home.”

“What if I _don’t?_ ” Philip dares, hand balling up the front of Henry’s button up. “What’ll you do then, poof?”

Alex sighs, tired of playing games with this bigoted waste of oxygen. He steps forward once again, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater.   
  


“Henry, darlin’, get up on the patio, now.”

“Why?” Henry rasps, sounding as if he’s been yelling for quite some time.

“Because I’m about to show your brother how we do things down south, and I don’t want you near that.”

“I—”

“Get on the porch,” Philip demands, shoving Henry away from him. “Since your little _boyfriend_ wants to step into a grown man’s shoes.”

Alex snorts, shaking his head as he steps closer. “I’ll give you one free hit,” He tells Philip, tapping an index finger to his cheek before letting his arms fall to his sides. “Go ‘head and get it outta the way.”

“Boys,” Catherine starts, tone sounding final and angry. “Stop it, there’s no need to—“  
  


Alex hears the crunch of his nose against Philip’s fist, and groans, staggering back and cupping his nose. He’s bleeding; so, the fucker _does_ have a bit of fight in him. Good to know. He looks back towards his fathers— Oscar raises and eyebrow, and Raf gives a curt nod, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette. 

Alex turns back to Philip, and giggles, wiping his nose. “That was real cute. Now I’m gonna beat your ass.”

“I’d like to see you—“ Philip starts, but he doesn’t get to finish whatever he was going to say before Alex descends on him.

The only thing it’s comparable to is a dragon getting in a fight with a puppy dog. Now, this isn’t to say that Philip didn’t get a few hits in— he definitely did— Alexander just happened to be quicker. And stronger. And angrier. There are no rules; he’s pulling hair and aiming low, and Philip’s hurling slurs, and has just dragged him into the pool. He gets away with a cheap kick to the shin, and hoists himself out of the water trying to choke on the mouthful of water he’s practically inhaled. Philip spits an unattractive shade of red into the pool from between his swollen lips, and is absolutely fuming, ready to come after him.

“ _That is quite enough!_ ” Arthur shouts, absolutely pissed. “Philip, I thought I could expect more from you than bigotry! Than threatening your younger brother and making him feel like he’s less than the rest of us!”

“I—“ Philip stammers, immediately going on the defensive.

“You’ve just fought a high schooler, I don’t want to hear it.” Arthur cuts him off, and Catherine emerges from inside the house, eyes puffy and red beneath her glasses.

“Your things are at the front door in rubbish bags,” She tells Philip, correcting her already perfect posture. “I want you out of my home right this instant.”

Henry and Philip both look horrified. Bea lets out a singular, loud whoop.

“You can’t just kick me out!” Philip scoffs.

“Oh, yes I can,” Catherine replies, making her way over to the edge of the pool and sinking into a squat, getting on her son’s level. “You’re not a minor— you’ve only been living here because I was generous enough to house you. You’ve overstayed your welcome, and I want you out.”

“I’ve got nowhere to go,” Philip points out, and Catherine’s smile says it all; there’s no way for him to worm out of this one. He’s fucked. 

“You’re an accountant— I’m sure you can afford a nice apartment on your salary.”  
  


With that, there’s this awkward transition period of Philip exiting the pool, wringing out his clothes, and schlepping around to the front of the house, his shoes making an odd squishing sound. Alex looks around, not sure what to do with himself, freezing and wet and ashamed in what he just started. Henry’s pointedly not looking at him, and Bea looks like she’s desperately trying to hold a smile back. 

“Well,” Arthur sighs, stepping forward. “I do believe that told me everything that I need to know about you.” He tells Alex.

There’s a sizable lump growing in Alexander’s throat. 

“You stand up for others, and I like that.” He says, and Alex can’t help the sigh of relief he lets out. “I can only hope that Philip hasn’t swayed your impression of us; I can’t safely say he doesn’t speak for the entirety of our family.”

“Not at all, sir.” Alex replies, accepting Arthur’s hand when he extends it, hoisting himself up. “It’s very good to finally meet you. Henry’s told me loads about y’all.”  
  


“Only good things I hope,” Catherine says, voice taking on a warm, quiet tone. “Let’s all get inside, shall we? I just nipped inside— dinner’s almost ready. Henry, do get Alexander some dry clothes. I’d hate to have him catch a cold.”

Henry loops an arm around Alex’s waist, and leads him inside the house.

“You’re the most brazen, shameless git I have _ever_ met,” He whispers into Alex’s ear. “And as soon as I get a moment alone with you, I’m going to kiss you until you can’t think anymore.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” Alex murmurs back, and Henry presses a firm, chaste kiss to his cheek.

Two hours later, Alexander Claremont-Diaz is warm and well-fed, wearing clothes that Henry outgrew in the eighth grade. He’s laying in his bed— from what he’s been told, he’s the first boy to ever be invited into this bedroom— and Henry has his head on his chest. He feels sore, but that’s alright. Henry’s breathing is shallow and clear, his fingers tracing patterns into Alex’s arm. There were a few bumps along the way, but he thinks that meeting the family can be considered a success.

For once, things are calm, and things are good.


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a clusterfuck of all sorts of different shit but I was tryna wrap this up ASAP so!! Enjoy!!

“Shaan, you’re _killin’_ me, dude.”

“Mister Claremont-Diaz, all I said is that we’ll only be meeting for sessions on a monthly basis from now on.” Shaan replies with a poorly-hidden smile, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“ _Exactly!_ ” Alex exclaims, leaning forward in his chair. “What gives you the _right?”_

“You, your parents, and I have all agreed that you’ve become much better at handling your emotions and overwhelming situations.”

“Well, yeah—”

“You’ve also been making more of an effort to speak to your peers, as well as your mother and sister.”

“That’s true, but—”

“From what I hear, you’re also making more of an effort to involve yourself in your school and local community. Were you planning on telling me you got one of the starring roles in your school play?”

“I wasn’t aware that was somethin’ you might wanna know about,” Alex admits, momentarily distracted.

“I want tickets.” Shaan replies, and Alex is so flabbergasted by this declaration that he’s completely forgotten what he’s trying to argue with him about.

“I’ll let you know when we start selling,” Alex replies, taken off guard.

“To get back on track— what’s got you so hesitant to put more time between our sessions?” Shaan asks.

“I dunno,” Alex finds himself sighing, picking at his cuticles. “I’m finally getting my shit together, you know? I’m applying to colleges, I’ve got a boyfriend, my dads are awesome— I’m just worried that something bad’s gonna happen, and that I’m just gonna,” Alex rambles, making an awkward noise and accompanying hand gesture.

“That nobody’s going to be there to help you?” Shaan asks.

Alex dips his head down. “Yes.”

Shaan goes quiet for a moment; Alex can hear the quick, messy scrawl of his pen. “I think we both know that won’t be happening, but just in case, here’s my personal number. Text me anytime you need to talk.” He says, handing a slip of paper to Alex.

“This won’t be anything extra on the bill at the end of the month, will it?” Alexander asks, quirking a brow at Shaan.

Shaan chuckles, shaking his head. “Free of charge.”

“Good,” Alex laughs. “You’re already robbin’ my dads blind, man.”

“I have to make a living somehow, Mister Claremont-Diaz.” Shaan replies, shoulders shaking silently, lips turned up at the corners.

“I get it,” He replies, clearing his throat. “Thank you, though. Really— I know I’d be in a darker place without you, Shaan.”

There’s a flicker of emotion in Shaan’s expression, before he smoothes it over with a smile. “Just doing my job, Alex.”

Alex snorts, grabbing his backpack off the ground. “Sure. Take it easy, man.”

“Be safe,” Shaan tells him, and Alex smiles as he lets the door shut behind him.

“I can’t open it,” Henry whines later that same afternoon, burying his face in Alex’s shoulder. They’ve both applied to NYU; that was their middle ground school, the one they agreed that they would go to together if they both got in. January and February was a non-stop stream of applications for both of them; Henry applied to UC Davis to stay close to Catherine, Juilliard— just because Arthur ‘ _knows a guy’_ , and Dartmouth, as they’ve been on his mind for a while. Alex applied to Rice and Georgetown; he got into the latter, but didn’t want to say anything until Henry got a letter back from Dartmouth. He’s been refusing to check his emails out of fear of being rejected, so everything’s built up to this exact moment, a physical manifestation of his anxiety sealed in a thick white envelope. “Just toss it in the bin, I can’t do this.” He continues, burying his face in Alex’s shoulder.

“Babe, this is _your_ school.” Alex tells him, carding through his hair. “You’ve been wanting to go to Dartmouth since you were— what, in tenth grade? You gotta open it.”  
  


Henry huffs, pulling away. “Will you read it first? I don’t think I have the energy to.”

Alex laughs, pecking the side of his face. “If that’s what you need me to do, then yeah, I’ll read it first. Go ‘head and take a seat, sweetheart.”

Henry sits on the edge of his bed, and Alexander grabs the envelope off the nightstand, tearing it open across the top. He feels like he should be more nervous, but he’s not; he’s absolutely giddy for Henry. The fact that he has the distinct possibility of getting into his dream school is amazing. It would mean that NYU would be a bust, of course, but it would be amazing nonetheless.

He looks down at Henry, who’s got his eyes clamped shut and his teeth worrying at his bottom lip. Bless his heart. He leans down to press a kiss to his hair, and pulls the letter out of the envelope, unfolding it and skimming over the words. He can’t help the strangled sound he makes when his breath gets caught in his throat.

“Holy shit,” He breathes, and Henry’s eyes fly open.

“What?”

“Holy _fucking shit!_ ”

“Did I get in?” Henry whispers, as if he’s just said something wildly inappropriate.

“Uh-huh!” Alex replies, laughing delightedly as Henry snatches the letter out of his hands to read.

“Jesus Christ,” Henry gasps. “I got in.”

“You got in!” Alex exclaims in response. “Henry, this is massive! God, I just—” He cuts himself off, gripping at Henry’s shoulders, hard. “Words cannot describe how proud I am of you right now.”

Henry laughs, pulling him close and winding his arms around Alex’s torso. “I can hardly imagine how shocked they’ll be when I turn them down.”

Alex freezes. “Oh no, you’re going to Dartmouth, baby.”

Henry raises both brows. “Why would I do that?”

“Uh, because it’s a _fucking_ Ivy!” Alex reminds him, swatting his shoulder. “With an _eight percent_ chance of admission, might I add.”

“I thought we’d both agreed on NYU?” Henry tells him, and Alex sighs.

“That was when we both thought we’d only be getting into NYU. You’ve been accepted to your first choice, and I’ve been accepted to another college, too.”

Henry’s eyes light up. “Rice?”

“Georgetown.”

A kiss is pressed to the back of Alexander’s hand. “I knew you’d get in.”

“Now is not the time for flattery, Hen.” He tells Henry. “You’re going to Dartmouth.”

“So insistent,” Henry comments, and it’s kind of bothering Alex that he’s not taking this as seriously as he should. 

“Well, you shouldn’t throw away your future because of a high school relationship.”

Henry scoffs. “I’m not _throwing away my future_ — if anything, I’m making every decision with the future in mind. I’ve wanted to live in New York for a while, now. Even if we weren’t dating, I would probably go with NYU. It’s just the more practical approach, lovie.”

“Oh,” Alex says, heat creeping up his neck in embarrassment.

“Of course, you’re an added bonus,” Henry chuckles. “My boyfriend, and my best friend—“

“What about Pez?”

Henry pinches his lips together. “He is a _very_ close second, but don’t you _dare_ tell him that.”

Alex snorts. “God, he’d steal you right away from me.”

“He certainly would,” Henry laughs, intertwining their fingers. “Drag me off to MIT with him and Nora.”

“Sounds like something he’d do.”

“Anyways,” Henry breathes. “I’m turning down Dartmouth, because I know what my priorities are. A proper change of scenery, myself, and you. I’ll be attending New York University in the fall, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

Alex rolls his eyes, tilting Henry’s chin up. “I wouldn’t dream of it, you stubborn, stubborn man.”

“And you’re coming with me?”

“Of course I am.”

“It’s settled, then?”

He smiles, nodding. “Yeah; we’ll in New York by the end of the summer.”

“Wonderful.”

Alex leans down, and Henry pulls him into a warm, gentle kiss. 

June was right in what she said during their FaceTime call last night; having the right emotional and conversational vocabulary can truly work wonders. 

As February fades into March, it feels like the world is ramming into Alexander at top speed. There’s so much going on— between school and home, he feels like he only truly gets time to unwind when he’s out cold and snoring. 

The first thing that occurs, on the second, is a big meeting conducted by none other than Oscar and Raf. They’d made a point out of letting him know that he wasn’t in trouble.

“We’ve been thinking about this for a while now,” Raf had told him, more serious than Alex had seen him in years. “And we just want to know your honest opinion before we go rushing headfirst into it all.”

Alex felt himself tense in that moment, felt his brows furrow. “What is it?”

Oscar picked up where Raf had left off. “We’ve been thinking about this for years, mijo. We’ve been budgeting, we’ve been doing research— hell, your dad’s been sitting up at night and reading me articles—“

“For Christ’s sake, Pops, just come out with it already.” Alex had told him, and Raf seized the moment on the behalf of a very shocked and taken-aback Oscar. 

“We think we’re ready to have another kid.” Raf told him, cutting straight to the chase. “We’ve been properly talking about it for about two years now, and now that you’re here with us, well, we figured we should take your feelings and opinions into account.”

_Oh._

“Not gonna lie,” He had sighed, laughing. “That was not what I was expecting. Like, at all.” 

He’d seen the nervous expressions on his father’s faces, and immediately started stumbling over his words, his brain moving faster than his mouth could. 

“I mean, I can only imagine what CJ’s gonna say,” He told them, picking at loose threads on the armrest of the couch. “And you guys are gonna be old as fuck by the time the baby’s my age.”

“We actually already talked to June, and your mother, because she happened to be in the room.” Raf explained. “They were both pretty indifferent, bud.”

“And we’re not gonna be that old, you little asshole,” Oscar had laughed, eyes creasing at the corners. “We’ll be in our early sixties.”

“Well, I’ll be in my late fifties.” Raf had corrected, laying his head on Oscar’s shoulder and kissing his neck. “You’ll be in your sixties.”

“No need to rub it in.” Oscar grunts, hand settling on Raf’s waistline, squeezing gently. 

That’s when it hit Alex; they’re in love, as gross as it is. They’ve been in love for a really long time, and the fact that they’ve waited so long to have kids is kind of a huge deal. They could’ve chosento have one at any time, but they waited until Alex got over his post-divorce angst, waited for him to reach six months of sobriety, and then still cared about his feeling enough to ask if them having kids as a grown, married couple was too much for him to handle. 

It was clear in that moment that they both love him to pieces, and he loves them, too. He already had his mind made up, and cleared his throat, ready to speak. 

“I mean, I wouldn’t mind having a younger sibling,” He’d admitted, smiling. “I wouldn’t get treated like a little kid by your side of the family anymore, either,” He told Oscar, crossing his arms over his chest. “So I don’t really have any complaints. You guys should do it.”

Oscar had smiled then, one of those quiet smiles that he reserved for rare moments and the slow, easy mornings of holidays. “You’re sure, son?”

Alex couldn't hold back his smile anymore, and gave a quick nod in response. “I’m sure. Keep me updated, alright guys?”

Raf chuckled. “Will do. Might not hear anything for a while, but we’ll let you know what’s going on as soon as we can.”

“Cool,” Alex had breathed, and with a startling amount of simplicity, the conversation had drifted on to other topics.

The second thing— well, things— to happen in the month of March was birthdays. First Henry’s, then his own. He remembers a lot of things from Henry’s birthday; a smear of teal lipstick on his cheek from Bea’s greeting, Pez smashing Henry’s face in a pre-cut slice of cake, tears on a torn-up birthday card from Philip. Helping Catherine in the kitchen, a video call with Arthur, spinning Henry around in his bedroom in the late evening hours to a carefully curated playlist of slow songs; it was a birthday he certainly hopes Henry will remember on rough and rainy days.

There was a two-week period of respite, then Alex’s eighteenth came around the corner. He half-expected things to feel different, if he’s being honest. He felt just the same as he did the night before, except he’s allowed to vote and make his own medical decisions now. 

Overall, the day was nothing to write home about. Raf and Oscar gave him their own individual cards; he ended up slipping the money into his wallet and promptly forgetting about it. Instead of all the fanfare that usually came with a birthday cake, he opted to have Henry over for dinner instead. They drove down to the waterfront in Old Sacramento, just to get outdoors, and took a walk along the water. He was sure to get a few photos of Henry on the sly. After they were done there, they went back home, and ended up falling asleep in the den, some bleak historical drama playing on the television with the volume turned down. An uneventful, yet perfect way to spend his birthday. 

The beginning of April brings hardcore, nearly nonstop rehearsals for Romeo and Jules. At this point, he knows his lines like the back of his hand, and what he doesn’t know entirely, he picks up on subtle cues from Henry. Amy’s gone a bit extreme; she’s been emailing teachers ahead of time to pull him and Henry and the rest of the supporting cast out of their classes for more practice time. Nora’s absolutely perfect as the nurse, and Pez makes a dazzling Mercutio. He tells them both as much, and he’s paid back in cheek pecks and playful flirting. He’s missed a few cues just watching Henry act and interact with others, the way he moves like water and speaks as if he sleeps, lives, and breathes his character. 

After dress rehearsal and a grueling after-school meeting with the cast and tech crew in the black box, Amy had requested to talk to Alex alone in her office. He wasn’t exactly sure as to what to expect at first, but seeing the warmth in her face immediately lifted all feelings of anxiety and dread from his chest. 

“Alex,” She greets, jovial, bracelets on her wrist jingling as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Come in, take a seat.”

He does as he’s told, chuckling as she flops down into her chair. “You wanted to see me, Amy?”

“I did,” She replies, playing with the pens in the organizer on her desk. “How’s the leg doing?”

“Good,” He tells her, sensing that there’s more to the conversation than she’s letting on. “Better. Glad to finally have the cast off.”

“I cannot believe you managed to fuck it up even worse than you already had by getting in a fight.”

“I was defending the honor of a good man,” He insists, not wanting to go into the details with his drama teacher. “And I won.”

She snorts. “I believe you.”

The room goes quiet, and he smiles again. “Was that it, Mrs. Chen?”

“Gross, don’t call me that,” She scoffs.

“Everyone else calls you—“

“I know,” She sighs. “But not you. You’re like— you’re my angry little hell raiser. You don’t get to call me that.”

“I’m doing it out of respect for you,” He admits.

She sighs. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Kid, I—“ She starts, stopping herself to clear her throat. “You have come so far, emotionally and socially, since you’ve been here. Everyone can see it. I can see it, Zahra and Cash can see it, your dads can see it, shit, I even rang up your mom—“

“Who gave you Mom’s number?” He chuckles.

“Oscar, so that I could invite her to our show, but that’s beside the point,” She says. “You’ve grown into yourself, and I may not completely know what happened in Texas, or Arizona, but I know that whatever it was put you in a rough state of mind. The fact that you were able to pull through it, to chase after life and grab it by the throat— it’s truly amazing. Trans people— a quarter of us end up attempting. Nine in ten of us have thought about it.Two-fifths of us have been attacked in the last five years. We’re all survivors, but you’ve taken it to a whole new level, kiddo. You’re the dictionary definition of it.”

Alex feels hot tears burning his eyes. “Thank you.”

“I’m not done yet,” She says, leaning over the table and holding his hands. “I want to see you succeed, no matter what it takes, no matter what you end up doing. I’ve heard from the senior counselor that you’re heading off to NYU, and that’s bound to be expensive.”

He chuckles, sniffling. “Yeah, I'll find a way to get it paid for, though.”

Amy smiles. “My wife and I, we have quite the rainy day fund—“

“Nope,” Alex says immediately, shaking his head.

Amy tuts. “Let me finish, _jeez!_ Anyways, I know it might feel weird, but given my wife’s income— she’s an anesthesiologist, by the way—“

“ _Damn!_ ”

She snorts. “I know, right? Given her income, it wouldn’t be so bad if we just—“

“Don’t say it,” Alex groans, laughing, tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

“I have to,” She smiles. “My wife is completely on board with it. We’d like to sponsor your education, if you’d let us.”

He’s fully crying now, chuckling as he wipes at his eyes. “Don’t you guys wanna save the money for your kids or some shit like that?”

“God, no,” Amy groans, giggling. “Don’t get me wrong, kids are the coolest, we’re just not made for that. We’d much rather invest our money in a student who we can tell is gonna go places. That student being you, of course.”

  
  


He has to remind himself to breathe deeply and slowly; it feels so fucking weird hearing her say these words when she was standing in the way of his diploma a couple of months ago. He lets out a half-hysterical laugh at the thought of that.

“What do you say, hon?” Amy asks, voice soft and sweet. Understanding. “Would that be something you’d be comfortable with us doing?”

“I mean, if you’re sure you want to throw your money away on a history degree—“

“I’m not throwing away my money if it’s something you’re passionate about.” She insists.

“Then yeah,” He replies, wiping his tears away. “Yeah, that’d be pretty fuckin’ cool.”

She smiles. “I thought you’d think so.”

They talk just long enough for him to calm back down and get comfortable with the idea, and on the way out, she makes a comment on him working on his blocking when he gets home.

He smiles the whole way home in Henry’s car. 

“What’s got you so cheery, hmm?” Henry asks, interlocking their fingers. 

  
  


Between his sponsorships, the fact that he’s closer to ‘ _better_ ’ than he’s ever been before, and the very real possibility that he could have a little sibling soon, he doesn’t know what to say.

“Life is good,” He ends up settling on.

He sighs in content when Henry kisses his cheek and says “I couldn’t possibly agree more.”


	9. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter!! Tw: emetophobia

He’s not entirely sure why, but Alex is currently very sick, and all that sick is ending up in a trash can someone brought out from Amy’s office. Who would’ve thought that he, of all people, would have been hit by pre-show jitters? He certainly didn’t. His dads are in that crowd. Mom and Bug are in that crowd. Shaan’s in that crowd; he did not know that his therapist was married to Zahra. He’s not sure what’s feeding more into his anxiety, the fact that Ellen’s out there, or the fact that Arthur— Broadway actor, _I-was-nominated-for-a-Tony_ Arthur— is currently sitting next to her. 

“Come on, starlet,” Pez coos, pulling him out of his chair. “We’ve got Henry standing at the sinks in the restroom. He’s got a toothbrush and a pep talk with your name on it.”

Alex nods, shaking, letting Pez lead him to the cold, dingy boy’s bathroom. 

Henry is, in fact, standing at the sinks, looking rather frazzled as he preens and primps in the mirror. He only seems to take a break from doing so when Alexander hunches over the sink with a half-hearted groan. 

“What’s wrong, love?” Henry asks, tone genuine, but wavering. He’s just as nervous as Alex is right now; he’s not sure if that’s reassuring or absolutely terrifying. His anxiety seems to figure that out for him, heart and brain racing in unison. 

“I don’t think I can do this,” He admits, ashamed at the way his voice cracks and shakes from the stress of it all. 

“Yes you can,” Henry replies simply, rifling around in his book bag and pulling out an unopened travel kit. “Look in there, should be an unused toothbrush.”

Alex opens the case, pulls out the toothbrush and toothpaste, and sets them down on the countertop. His head is spinning, and he feels pins and needles in his skin.

“Are you going to be sick again?” Henry questions.

“Maybe—“ He confesses, clamping his eyes shut. 

“Breathe,” Henry instructs. “Long and deep, okay? In for seven, out for eleven.”

Alex works on getting his breathing under control, and Henry rubs his back, continuing to speak to fill the silence. 

“Alex, darling, you’ve got this down perfectly. You’ve memorized every line, every stage direction, every cue— you’re gonna do just fine.”

“What if I forget?” Alexander finds himself asking feebly. “What if I trip and fall out there? Henry, I can’t—“

“Alexander, when I was eleven, I took such a dive off stage after tripping that I broke my nose and swore out loud,” Henry tells him. “I doubt you’ll do something nearly as embarrassing as that. If you forget, you improvise. You’re a master at flying by the seat of your pants. I read the rough drafts of all your essays, after all, so if anyone would know that, it would be me.” He chuckles.

Alex snorts. “You’re right.” He still feels jittery, but at least he can breathe now. He tries to focus on little things, like getting a dollop of toothpaste onto the bristles of the brush, and how absolutely stunning Henry looks in the pale blue bard shirt they’ve stuffed him in, how ethereal he looks when the slightest bit of rouge has been applied to the apples of his cheeks. He brushes in deep, circular motions as Henry’s fingers dig into the tense knots of his shoulders.

“You’ll do fine,” Henry tells him, stepping back to let Alex spit in the sink and rinse his mouth. “You’re doing a lot better than I did, the first time ‘round.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Alex tells him, looking himself over before reaching back for one of Henry’s hands, squeezing tightly. 

“Well, I’ve been doing this for quite a while.” Henry responds, and that’s when Pez bursts in, looking drained, yet dazzling in the rich reds and yellows of his Mercutio costume.

“Do you two lovebirds plan on coming backstage anytime soon?” He asks, sweet but upfront. “We’re onstage in ten.”

“We’ll be right there,” Henry tells Pez, making sure he’s out of the area before pressing a kiss to Alex’s lips. “All good?” He questions.

Alex nods, grabbing onto Henry’s sides. “All good.”

Henry grins. “Good. Let’s do this.”

And with that, Alex strolls with Henry hand in hand to meet his fate.

To his own morbid shock, the show doesn’t suck. It’s still very much a high school production, but it’s a good one, and he can tell by the glimmer in Amy’s eyes as she grasps onto her wife’s arm and tries to clap at the same time. Alex kisses Henry’s cheek when they all bow, and Nora whistles and gives him a saucy wink that has June screeching with laughter in the front row.

The first thing Alex does when he gets off stage is make his way down to the seating area, find his mom, and hug her. It’s a strong, desperate hug, conveying his pain and his loneliness and his acceptance and every other stage of grief that he went through while he was separated from her. Her arms wind around her, and they just stand there for a moment, swaying back and forth. He feels like crying, but he has light foundation on and doesnt want to cover her shirt in the product if his face gets wet. 

“I’ve missed you, sugar.” She tells him, her voice deep and quiet and slow like honey. 

“I’ve missed you too, Mom.” He replies, and damn, holding back his tears is a lot harder than he expected it to be.

Next is June, whom he hugs, then promptly pinches.

“Ow!” She exclaims, rubbing her arm. “What was that for?”

“Putting Mitski on the custom record, you absolute heathen.” He replies, delighted by her understanding snort.

He turns to his dads, who both hug him at once and praise him over how well the show turned out. They’re crushing him just a bit, but it’s completely welcome. Oscar pecks the top of his head; he isn’t kidding about being proud, then. They both seem unreasonably giddy— he makes a mental note to ask why later.

He feels someone poke his back, and nearly jumps out of own skin, turning around and glaring when he sees Nora doubled over, cackling. 

“Sorry, sorry,” She giggles, wheezing.

“No, you’re not.” He grumbles.

“No, I’m not,” She confirms, righting her posture. “Henry, his family, Pez, and I are all going to that shitty little diner two blocks down to grab something to eat before we go home. You guys down to come with?” She asks, gesturing to his family as a whole.

Alex turns to face them all, and is met with shrugs and blank stares. How helpful.

“Sure,” He decides on their behalf, turning back to Nora with a smile. “Lemme get changed, and then we can go.”

“Cool,” She replies, and with flat, she makes her way back over to where she was chatting with Pez and his family, dress half unzipped.

He snorts and shakes his head, and goes backstage to grab his sweats.

There’s something about hash browns and lukewarm coffee that just hits different after physically, emotionally, and mentally pushing yourself for over an hour. June forces him to take a few sips of water, and during his more coherent moments, he’s cutting up silver dollar pancakes with a fork and feeding them to a drowsy Henry, who keeps dozing off and drooling on his shoulder. 

Henry’s family comes over to congratulate them on the performance, and gives Henry permission to stay the night. Bea and Catherine peck his cheek first, then Arthur claps him on the shoulder, toting away Henry’s backpack whilst Catherine’s trying to tell Henry what’s going on. 

“Henry,” She says gently. “Henry, love, five more seconds please.” She tells him, snapping him out of a doze.

“Yeah, Mummy?” He yawns, and Catherine smiles softly. 

“Check in with us in the morning when you wake up, okay?”

“‘Mkay,” He breathes. “Goodnight.”

She chuckles, making her way back to her own table. “Goodnight, my love.”

Alex makes sure to say goodnight to Nora, Pez, June, and his mom before they leave the diner; the girls are staying at a nearby hotel, and Pez is staying with Nora for the next few days. He’ll have to take Henry to visit them tomorrow.

Halfway through the drive home, he finally gets to ask the question he’s been dying to get out.

“What are y’all so happy about?” He asks.

Oscar smiles, and says something to Raf that he can’t quite make out. 

“What?” Alex questions, sitting up in an effort to hear better.

“We got a text from the surrogate just before the show started,” Raf explains, reaching back and patting Alexander on the knee. “Baby Diaz is on the way.”

“Fuck yeah,” Alex replies, animated and exhausted. It gets a good laugh out of his dads, and the fact that he didn’t get in trouble for swearing leaves him satisfied. 

  
He falls asleep in bed with Henry draped over him as soon as they stumble into his room, and he realizes that finals are next week right before he turns out the light. Such stress-inducing things can be worried about later, he decides.

“Love you,” He whispers into the room, expecting no response in particular.

Henry mumbles something distinctly similar to _“I love you, too.”_

Alex takes what he can get, kisses Henry’s temple, and turns off the lamp, out like a light within seconds of his head hitting the pillow, perfectly content in Henry’s arms.

He’s come a long way, and tonight has definitely proved it.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: @bi-disaster-fsotus


End file.
